EARTH  TRIUMPHANT 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO 
DALLAS    •    ATLANTA    •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO..  LIMITED 

LONDON    •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


EARTH  TRIUMPHANT 

And  Other  Tales  In  Verse 


BY 

CONRAD  AIKEN 


gorfe 

THE   MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1914 


COPYRIGHT,  1914 
BY  THE  FOUR  SEAS  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1914 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  Sept.,  1914 


To  My  Wife. 

Whatever  loveliness  is  in  this  music, 
Whatever  yearning  after  lovely  things, — 
Whatever  crying  after  stars,  in  darkness. 
Whatever  beating  of  impeded  wings: 

Whatever  climbing  of  the  rose  to  sunlight, 
Sweet-hearted  laugh  from  the  dark  blind  sod: 
Whatever  madness  of  the  sea  for  moonlight, 
Whatever  yearning  of  the  good  to  God: 

All  that  is  beautiful,  and  all  that  looks  on 
beauty 

With  eyes  filled  with  fire,  like  a  lover's  eyes: 

All  of  this  is  yours;  you  gave  it  to  me,  sun 
light! 

All  these  stars  are  yours;  you  gave  them  to 

me,  skies! 

v 

331019 


FOREWORD. 

Not  to  disarm  criticism,  but  out  of  justice 
to  myself,  I  feel  compelled  to  say  here,  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  I  am  certain  to  be 
called  an  imitator  of  Masefield,  that  before 
I  had  ever  heard  of  Masefield  I  was  experi 
menting  with  narrative  poems  of  modern 
daily  life.  In  one  case  I  had  even  employed 
the  octosyllabic  couplet  (used  so  success 
fully  in  "The  Everlasting  Mercy")  to  tell 
the  love-story  of  an  ordinary  clerk. 

It  will  be  obvious,  of  course,  that  Mase 
field  has  influenced  me.  I  found  in  him 
many  valuable  hints  toward  a  method  for 
the  work  I  wanted  to  do.  If  with  some  of 
his  method  I  unconsciously  picked  up  also 
some  of  his  mannerisms,  that  was  to  be  ex 
pected,  and  I  can  only  hope  that  these  echoes 

vii 


viii  FOREWORD 

are  neither  very  important  nor  many.  And 
I  believe  firmly  that  my  substance  and  my 
philosophy,  whatever  their  merits,  and  de 
spite  superficial  resemblances,  are  entirely 
my  own,  and  entirely  different  from  those  of 
Masefield. 

The  narrative  poems  in  this  book  were 
written  a  considerable  time  after  my  read 
ing  of  "The  Everlasting  Mercy"  and  "The 
Widow  in  the  Bye  Street."  In  the  interim  I 
had  done  work  more  experimental  in  quality 
and  more  directly  reminiscent.  In  writing 
"Youth,"  "Earth  Triumphant,"  and  "Ro 
mance,"  however,  I  made  a  deliberate  at 
tempt  to  excise  all  echoes,  and  to  leave  as  a 
basis  for  dreaded  comparisons  only  the  facts 
that  these  poems,  like  Masefield's,  are  nar 
rative,  and  are  written  in  certain  Chaucerian 
forms. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


EARTH  TRIUMPHANT 1 

YOUTH 69 

ROMANCE .    .  132 

EARTH  TEDIUM .    .  167 

INNOCENCE „  183 

SOPHISTICATION 185 

LAUGHTER 196 

YOUTH  IMPERTURBABLE 203 

YOUTH  PENETRANT 207 

PARASITICS:  TO  CERTAIN  POETS    .     .     .  210 

DILEMMA  .  216 


EARTH  TRIUMPHANT 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

THE  warm  sun  covers  earth  again, 
And  the  ivy  leaves  flash  bright  with  rain, 
They  sparkle  on  the  garden  wall, 
Drops,  falling,  sparkle  as  they  fall; 
And  there  among  the  dark  leaves  clings, 
Scattering  rain-drops  with  his  wings, 
A  thrush,  who  having  drunk  of  rain 
Bubbles  to  sun  a  mirthful  strain. 
The  trees  all  shake  in  youthful  green, 
The  grasses  shimmer  cool  and  clean, 
The  meadow-brook  sings  sweet  in  flowing, 
Dreamless  of  whither  it  be  going, 
And  of  all  living  things  this  day 
Who  shine  with  laughter  in  this  May, 
Not  one,  not  one  who  can  remember 
The  bitter  blowings  of  December, 

The  boughs  that  creaked,  the  sod  that  froze, 

1 


2  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

The  cold  stars  staring  at  cold  snows. 
0  Earth,  it  were  a  pity  then, 
Could  you  not  give  this  grace  to  men, 
Could  you  not  heal  them  of  their  sorrow, 
Forgetting  yesterday,  to-morrow, 
To  live  for  always  in  to-day, 
^As  these  dumb  happy  things  in  May! 
To  sing  the  blessedness  of  sun 
Nor  sadden  when  its  shine  be  done, 
But  only  wait  like  these,  and  dream, 
Or  sleep,  till  April's  rainy  gleam, — 
Through  winter's  times  of  snow  and  sleet, 
When  thickly  round  the  forest's  feet 
Lie  dead  leaves,  like  old  memories  dead, 
Dead  griefs,  and  happinesses  sped.  .  .  . 
0  Earth  it  were  a  pity  then, 
Could  you  not  give  this  grace  to  men, 
And  make  them  from  their  sorrows  rise 
Like  green  things  new  beneath  new  skies! 
Yet  here  is  given  the  tale  of  one 
Who  took  this  healing  of  the  sun, 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  3 

And  he,  though  true  to  earth,  her  child, 
Has  been  by  tongues  of  men  reviled. 

Through  all  his  youth  an  anchorite 
He  peered  at  earth  by  candle-light, 
And  on  a  lamp-lit  page  would  read 
Of  bygone  time  and  ancient  deed, 
Closing  the  windows  of  his  room 
Lest  modern  sun  should  spoil  his  gloom 
Or  scare  away  his  magic  things, 
His  faerie  visions,  holy  rings, 
And  tales  in  curious  language  writ, 
Strange-charactered,  by  monkish  wit; 
And  he  had  always  through  his  youth 
Gone  devious  sombre  ways  for  truth, 
Seeking  for  truth  in  star  and  moon 
Rather  than  in  the  ruddy  sun; 
Walking  abroad  in  night  and  mist, 
Haply  to  catch  the  ghosts  at  tryst, 
With  elfin  verses  in  his  head 
And  words  too  holy  to  be  said. 


4  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Ere  his  own  life  was  yet  begun 
He  had  exhausted  one  by  one 
Each  creed,  each  weird  philosophy, 
And  reached  at  last  satiety: 
Till,  wearied  much  of  rhyming  words 
That  sought  to  mimic  song  of  birds, 
He  put  his  books  upon  their  shelf 
And  went  to  hear  the  birds  himself, — 
Threw  up  his  windows,  let  in  sun, 
And  called  philosophising  done. 

The  sunshine  on  pale  eyes  was  sweet, 
The  grass  was  soft  beneath  his  feet; 
Deeply  he  drank  the  blue  of  skies, 
And  touching  earth  grew  subtly  wise, — 
Wiser  than  he  had  been  before 
When  he  beneath  his  lamp  would  pore 
Over  illumined  manuscript, — 
When  frequently  his  fine  pen  dipt 
To  quill  slow  delicate  characters 
Upon  the  margin  of  a  verse. 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  5 

Beneath  his  window  lilacs  grew, 

Among  his  books  their  perfume  blew, 

And  musing  by  the  window  there 

He  watched  them  shake  their  lovely  hair, 

And  watched  a  flock  of  sparrows  sit 

Among  the  leaves  to  dart  and  twit, 

Filling  the  bush  with  bickerings 

And  shaking  leaves  with  nervous  wings. 

He  walked  abroad  in  country  lanes 

Through   summer  winds,   through   autumn 

rains, 

Loving  the  wind  that  laughed  so  wild, 
Till  he  too  brimmed  with  mirth,  a  child, 
And  sang  out  loud, — surprised  to  hear 
His  own  dead  voice  rise  trembling  clear 
Among  the  sumach,  sere  and  red, 
With  dead  leaves  loud  beneath  his  tread. 
And  when  he  walked  in  city  places 
He  looked  with  love  on  human  faces, 
And  talked  with  those  who  sat  by  him 
In  the  subway,  swaying  dim, 


6  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

And  smilingly  with  children  spoke 

And  yearned,  although  too  shy,  to  stroke 

Their  soft  cheeks  and  their  shining  hair, 

Or  tell  them  stories  strange  and  rare. 

At  night  he  sat  in  restaurants, 

In  gay  bohemian  poets'  haunts, 

Where  poets  came  with  languid  locks, 

And  chorus-girls  in  gaudy  frocks, 

Where  eyes  were  quick  and  wine  was  flowing 

And  love  was  made  and  money  going, 

While  one  man  with  a  violin 

Made  quavering  music,  sweet  and  thin ; 

And  after  dinner  he  might  walk 

In  brightly  lighted  streets,  to  talk 

With  girls  whose  mouths  were  very  red, 

Who  held  their  bodies  but  as  bread, 

As  broken  bread,  not  more  divine, 

And  no  more  precious  blood  than  wine. 

He  sometimes  thought, — these  might  be  his 

Through  all  the  night  with  ecstasies, 

And  he  might  stroke  the  subtle  flesh, 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  7 

Snared  in  an  exquisite  red  mesh, 

And  hear  the  clock  tick,  all  night  through, 

Alone  there  in  the  night,  they  two. 

Warmly  he  shivered,  thinking  this, 

His  body  warmed  with  creeping  bliss; 

But  somehow,  though  he  vaguely  meant, 

The  instinct  failed,  he  never  went; 

Content  instead,  in  front-row  seat, 

To  watch  the  intricate  flash  of  feet 

Of  well-trained  chorus-girls,  who  came 

In  lusty  dance,  to  fill  with  shame 

And  ecstasy, — 0  mingling  sweet!— 

His  eyes,  that  watched  the  moving  feet, 

The  legs  of  lustrous  crimson  silk, 

White  petticoats,  skin  white  as  milk; 

While  through  his  ears,  a  blandishment, 

The  implorings  of  the  music  went, 

Persuasive  horn,  queer  violin, 

Dissolving  him  in  bliss  of  sin  ... 

Out  of  such  febrile  air  he  rose 

To  walk  home  through  the  slanting  snows, 


8  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Breathing  deep  the  cold  night  air 
To  make  his  body  clean  and  fair; 
Loving  the  flakes  that  touched,  to  melt, 
His  stubble  cheek,  so  cool  they  felt, 
And  loving  storm  and  loving  wind, 
They  purged  his  body  that  had  sinned: 
Not  sinned,  perhaps — but  from  his  blood 
They  purged  away  this  darker  mood, 
To  leave  his  spirit  cold  and  white 
And  shining,  like  a  winter's  night  .  .  . 
But  most  of  all,  when  night  was  done, 
He  loved  the  ruddy  morning  sun, 
Who  shone  so  warm  on  his  pale  face; 
Touched  every  wire  and  twig  with  grace, 
And  flamed  on  every  icicle 
Till  drops  of  fire  from  each  one  fell ! 
O  every  day  this  gave  him  joy, 
Brimmed  him  with  music,  like  a  boy. 

So  for  a  flight  of  magic  days 
In  these  ways  and  in  other  ways 


EARTH    TRIUMPHANT  9 

The  reawakened  life  in  him 
Woke  tunings  intricate  with  whim, — 
Slow,  subtle  sequences  of  tone, 
Bland  horns,  a  drawling  of  trombone, 
A  tentative,  perplexing  din; 
Whence  softly  rose  a  violin 
To  sing  a  moving  phrase,  and  then 
Was  lost  in  jargonings  again  .  .  . 
From  this  confusion,  tangling  sweet, 
It  needed  but  a  single  beat 
Swiftly  to  draw  and  lead  in  one 
Those  subtle  sequences  of  tone, 
Out  of  the  deeps  each  voice  to  bring 
In  slow  grave  symphony  to  sing, 
Bidding  it  quicken,  bidding  it  rise, 
Or  steadfast  shine,  like  stars  in  skies, 
Or  cry  out  against  all  that  is 
To  break  its  heart  with  ecstasies.  .  . 

The  lamp  put  lustre  in  her  hair, 

Soft  reds  and  grfcens  were  mingled  there, 


10  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Her  eyes  were  fathomlessly  dark 

Save  that  remote  in  each  a  spark 

He  saw  there,  like  a  flying  star 

In  vast  voids  where  no  others  are; 

Now  shining  fully  like  a  moon, 

Now  scattering  showers  of  splendor  down, 

Or  dwindling  off  remote  in  space 

Till  scarcely  yearning  eyes  could  trace; 

And  he  would  almost  hold  his  breath 

Like  one  who  peers,  at  gates  of  death, 

Through  infinite  dark  silences, 

Where  not  a  sound  or  presence  is  ... 

Waiting,  waiting,  for  his  breath 

To  come  up  shining  through  that  death  .  .  . 

And  all  the  while  upon  her  knee 

Her  small  hand  lay  so  quietly, 

As  though  it  did  not  know  she  led 

His  soul  so  far  among  the  dead; 

Stroking,  with  a  slow  caress, 

The  soft  knee  and  the  silky  dress, 

The  fingers  hiding  soft  between 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  H 

The  lustrous  little  folds  of  green  ; 

Or  curling  upward,  shy  and  pale, 

To  touch  a  gleaming  finger-nail. 

Somehow,  his  stupid  voice  went  on, 

It  must  go  on,  in  even  tone; 

Measuring  careful  syllables 

While  all  his  blood  was  deaf  with  bells; 

And  all  his  pulses  hurried  on, 

Pattering  towards  a  unison, 

Like  rain-drops  on  a  window-pane 

Making  a  single  hum  of  rain. 

Yet  even  talking  he  could  note 

Her  smooth  round  neck,  her  mellow  throat, 

And  all  the  soft  shine  in  her  face, 

And  all  her  body's  breathing  grace; 

And  then  came  tumult  in  his  hands, 

They  longed  to  fly  like  burning  brands, 

Madly  to  whirl  about  and  shatter 

This  idiotic  endless  chatter, 

Go  straight  towards  her,  through  it  all, 

Be  plunged  as  in  a  waterfall, 


12  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

And  bring  her  coolness  to  his  mouth, 

All  of  her  coolness  for  his  drouth; 

To  slake  his  mouth  and  eyelids  burning, 

To  sate  with  cool  snows  all  his  yearning, 

To  fill  his  spirit  with  her  snow, 

Have  all  her  coolness  in  his  glow. 

Of  her  he  had  imperious  need, 

Without  her,  broken,  he  would  bleed, 

Forever  languish  incomplete, 

A  wingless  thing,  with  wounded  feet.  .  . 

Aloof  and  strange  the  clock  struck  ten, 

And  whirred.    She  hoped  he'd  come  again. — 

Perhaps  she'd  walk  with  him  some  day? — 

In  wind  and  rain! — Or  see  a  play? — 

And  then  the  sweet  night  swallowed  him, 

He  floated,  giddily;  and  dim 

In  unperfected  memory  yet 

He  could  not  capture,  nor  forget, 

An  earth-sweet  face,  which  like  the  spring 

Made  all  his  pulses  glow  and  sing. 


EARTH    TRIUMPHANT  13 

With  her,  fulfilment  came,  it  seemed: 
She  was  the  beauty  he  had  dreamed. 
All  beauty  he  had  ever  loved 
Intensely  in  this  woman  moved, 
And  all  his  dead  youth  seemed  to  stir 
Whenever  he  had  glimpse  of  her: 
The  sunrise  seen  from  long  lost  heights, 
Forgotten  valleys  filled  with  lights, 
The  stars  which  he  had  loved  when  young, 
The  songs  to  him  in  childhood  sung; 
And  flowers,  so  near  and  friendly  then, 
Seemed  close  and  intimate  again, 
Just  as  they  were  when  once  he  lay 
In  soft  grass  on  a  summer's  day, 
With  daisy's  petals  by  his  cheek 
So  living  that  they  seemed  to  speak, 
And  little  clover,  green  and  white, 
Never  so  fragrant  as  at  night; 
While  humming-birds  with  mazy  wing 
Made  the  trumpet-flowers  swing, 
And  mulberries  fell  pattering  down, 


14  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Whereto  the  ants  came,  black  or  brown, 

He  watched  them  by  his  small  hand  pass 

In  the  green  forests  of  the  grass.  .  . 

Now  all  these  things  seemed  close  as  then; 

Close  were  the  faces,  too,  of  men, 

He  noted  lines  that  had  escaped 

His  eyes  before,  and  how  were  shaped 

The  lips,  the  nostrils,  or  the  chin, 

And  if  their  hands  were  white  and  thin, 

And  all  the  movement  that's  in  eyes, 

And  all  the  light  that  in  them  lies. 

The  very  texture  of  the  stone, 

Beneath  his  feet,  to  him  was  known. 

The  leaves  upon  the  lilac-tree, 

So  smooth,  in  essence  were  as  she; 

The  wind  that  blew  upon  his  face, 

Shaking  trees,  had  stolen  her  grace, 

Some  secret  of  her  in  it  moved, 

And  lo,  this  wind  he  touched  and  loved, 

Breathed  deeply  of  this  vagrant  air 

And  welcomed  it  among  his  hair. 


EARTH    TRIUMPHANT  15 

He  would  have  dallied  if  he  could 
A  long  while  with  this  joyous  mood, 
To  muse,  to  talk  of  her,  content, 
While  days  and  nights  like  music  went: 
Content  in  light  of  her  to  pass 
His  days,  as,  with  the  sunlight,  grass. 
For  all  the  things  of  earth  nowr  seemed 
Sweet  as  sweet  fa^es  that  are  dreamed, 
And  all  with  an  inward  glory  bright 
Which  reached  in  her  a  perfect  light.  .  . 
But  something,  some  dim  restlessness, 
Of  which  he  scarce  had  consciousness, 
The  subtle  impulse  that  in  spring 
Makes  daisies  grow  and  thrushes  sing, 
Left  him  discontent  with  this, — 
To  talk  of  her,  forego  her  kiss. 
And  so  he  lay  awake  long  hours, 
Traced  on  the  wall  the  patterned  flowers, 
And  while  the  clock  ticked,  cold  and  slow, 
Carefully  backward  would  he  go 
In  hushed  mind  over  memories  of  her 


16  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

To  ask  if  she  were  friend  or  lover: 
Sifting  her  lightest  glance  with  eyes 
So  frightened  they  could  not  be  wise, — 
Weighing  the  lightest  word  she'd  said 
With  held  breath,  heart  that  slowed  with 

dread. 

What  meant  these  things?    He  did  not  know. 
She  must  love  one  who  loved  her  so! 
And  when  at  times  he  so  construed 
Some  subtle  tone  of  hers,  or  mood, 
Then  straightway  flushed  his  brow  with  heat, 
Loudly  began  his  heart  to  beat, 
Tumultuous  all  his  pulses  sang, 
With  little  bells  his  temples  rang; 
And  moist  with  fever  he  would  rise 
To  stand  at  window,  stare  at  skies, 
While  love  seemed  sudden  to  fill  his  throat 
And  all  his  room  to  rock  and  float.  .  . 
Until  across  the  sleeping  town 
Came  elfin   bell-notes  coldly  down, 
Like  voices  falling  faint  and  far 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  17 

From  frozen  moon  or  haunted  star, 

And  a  white  horror  slid  between 

This  lover  and  his  earthly  queen  ; 

Even  as  frightened  spirits  run 

When  cock-crow  shrills  at  reddening  sun.  .  . 

They  climbed  a  wild  hill,  green  with  copse; 

Giddily  in  the  birch-tree  tops 

The  red-winged  blackbirds  widely  swayed 

Joyful  in  sunshine,  unafraid, — 

Wonderful  sky-things,  balancing 

So  high,  with  hardly  a  stir  of  wing. 

Beneath  the  hill  a  plain  was  spread, 

In  dusty  green,  with  houses  red, 

And  one  small  pond  which  towards  the  sky 

Stared  with  a  wide  blue  open  eye. 

Beyond  all  these  the  city  lay, 

Smoky,  with  roofs  of  serried  grey, 

And  smoky  trees,  and  smoky  grass, 

And  one  high  dome  that  blazed  like  brass : 

And  chimneys  tall  and  black,  wherethrough 


18  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Glittered  beyond  the  sea's  wet  blue, 

0  wonderful  wild  blue,  drawn  so  fine 

In  that  far  clear  horizon  line!— 

On  this  she  looked  with  blowing  hair, 

By  wind  and  sun  made  trebly  fair; 

So  wonderful  that  he  was  weak, 

His  voice  broke  tremor  when  he  would  speak. 

They  sat  and  talked,  of  little  things; 

For  him,  with  perilous  balancings, — 

Difficult  breath  and  gasping  words, 

Words  as  fleeting  and  shy  as  birds. 

She  told  his  fortune,  took  his  hand 

Ingenuously,  and  deeply  scanned 

Across  the  palm  the  netting  fine, 

Intricate  etchings  of  white  line ; 

Puckered  her  puzzled  brow,  and  frowned, 

Before  she  told  him  what  she  found: 

'If  you  should  ever  love,  have  fear! 

Near  death  is  written  plainly  here, 

For  her  or  you  I  cannot  say ; 

Else,  why  should  this  line  break  this  way? — ' 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  19 

She  laughed.     A  black  cloud  drenched  the 

sun 

And  suddenly  all  the  earth  grew  dun.  .  . 
They  rose,  returning.    As  they  went 
Vaguely,  a  cold  presentiment 
Slid  snake-like  through  his  mood  of  mirth; 
And  when  the  sun  reconquered  earth 
Still  through  their  laughter  he  could  hear 
'If  you  should  ever  love,  have  fear ! ' 

To-night  or  next  night  should  it  be? 
This  phrase  he  mused  incessantly; 
Feeling  that  all  life  came  to  urge 
This  action;  seeming  to  converge 
With  all  the  weight  of  earth  and  sky 
And  sun  and  stars  and  times  gone  by, 
Until  it  was  no  longer  he 
But  life,  in  all  infinity, 
That  moved  resistless  to  this  aim; 
Whatever  end,  not  his  the  blame.  .  . 
Meanwhile  the  rain-drops  cooled  his  face, 


20  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

,-- 
He  walked  on  with  a  quickened  pace, 

The  wind  shook  trees  and  made  them  cry, 
They  tossed  against  a  rapid  sky, 
Showing  pale  undersides  of  leaf, 
Swishing  and  writhing,  bacchic  grief. 
Omens!    This  violence  and  this  dark 
Troubled  his  soul  and  left  a  mark; 
With  lowered  face  he  went  his  way, 
Doubt  shook  him,  all  his  mood  was  grey. 
The  door-bell  rung,  he  stood  in  rain, — 
In  misery  of  doubt  and  pain; 
Yet  through  an  arc-light's  fitful  gloom 
He  saw  forsythia  trees  in  bloom, 
Glowing  and  golden  in  the  night, 
So  living  and  so  filled  with  light.  .  . 
These  lit  his  heart.    A  moment's  space, 
He  scarce  had  time  to  dream  her  face, 
And  the  door  opened,  it  was  she, 
Far  lovelier  than  a  dream  could  be; 
He  heard  her  speaking,  touched  her  hand, 
Briefly  across  her  dark  eyes  scanned, 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  21 

Feeling  a  soft  sense,  sweet  and  warm, 
Of  being  alone  with  her  in  storm; 
Then  they  with  shy  aloofness  moved, 
Lest  each  might  think  the  other  loved, 
To  sit  and  talk.  .  .    While  on  the  pane 
Came  gusty  patterings  of  rain, 
And  they  could  hear  the  trees  outside 
That  swished  against  the  wind,  and  cried, 
In  bacchie  frenzy,  anguished  bliss, 
Against  a  stormy  lover's  kiss. 
The  clock  upon  the  mantelpiece 
Ticked  on,  it  would  not  ever  cease, 
But  in  the  intervals  of  quiet, 
In  momentary  lull  of  riot, 
Delicate,  between  word  and  word, 
The  little  beat  of  it  was  heard; 
Measuring  life  that  flowed  away, 
The  blood's  alternate  night  and  day, 
And  urging  on,  still  urging  on, — 
To  what?    What  final  dusk  or  dawn? 
And  suddenly  now  it  seemed  a  part 


22  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Of  this  vast  tide  that  bore  his  heart 

Dizzily  to  some  dizzy  height, 

A  part  of  all  this  rushing  flight, 

Its  index  of  approaching  time 

When  spent  soul  need  no  more  to  climb, 

But  blasted  by  a  blazing  sky 

Must  be  transfigured  or  must  die. 

A  breathlessness  came  over  him, 

His  hands  upon  his  knee  seemed  dim, 

And  nebulous  his  body  seemed ; 

And  with  queer  loudness,  as  if  dreamed, 

His  voice  went  on,  in  empty  chatter 

Of  weighty  things  that  did  not  matter. 

A  breathlessness,  a  breathlessness, 

Rushing  him  on,  with  no  redress, 

No  pause,  no  pity,  though  he  strove 

And  cried  out  to  the  tide  that  drove 

His  helpless  spirit  through  this  dark. 

Wherein  remotely  shone  a  spark; 

And  all  this  darkness  seemed  to  be 

Her  dark  eyes'  vast  infinity, 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  23 

Infinity  of  fear  and  doubt 

Whence  there  was  never  coming  out, 

And  no  salvation,  save  he  came 

Through  space  and  time  to  that  far  flame 

Which  when  she  smiled  came  up  to  him, 

flaking  his  body  reel  and  swim. 

The  lamp  put  lustre  in  her  hair, 

Gleamed  upon  arms  and  shoulders  bare; 

One  arm  across  a  cushion  lay, 

So  white,  it  made  his  spirit  pray, 

And  in  his  hands  a  yearning  came 

To  stroke  that  flesh  as  smooth  as  flame. 

More  than  a  little  moment's  space 

He  dared  not  look  upon  her  face, 

For  swift  her  deep  eyes  drew  him  down 

To  darknesses  where  he  would  drown  ; 

And  yet  they  called  him  back  again, 

To  look  away  from  them  was  pain, 

He  felt  their  wonder  taking  him 

And  felt  the  world  slip  backward  dim, 

Her  power  was  a  magic  one, 


24  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

He  went  as  white  mist  goes  to  sun. 
Towards  her  mouth  his  spirit  went 
As  for  a  single  kiss  'twere  meant, 
Then  darkness  ever;  yet  his  brain 
Even  in  midst  of  all  this  pain 
Somehow  made  shift  to  capture  words, 
Setting  them  free  like  frightened  birds 
That  flashed  all  ways  with  startled  winging, 
Scattered,  yet  all  in  sunlight  singing, 
Singing  the  one  thing,  earthly  bliss, 
Half  joy,  half  terror,  before  the  kiss.  .  . 
And  after,  when  he'd  kissed  her  eyes, 
For  these  wild  words  they  deemed  him  wise, 
Saying,  that  they  (0  frightened  wing!) 
Had  worked  the  wonder  of  this  thing; 
So  wonderful,  they  sat  quite  still 
While  rain  dripped  at  the  window-sill, 
Quiet  as  trees  are,  when  the  hour 
Has  come  to  them  that  gives  them  flower  ; 
Quiet  and  shy  as  gentle  earth 
In  dusk  before  the  sun  brings  mirth; 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  25 

Quiet  as  God,  when  he  had  made 
These  stars,  and,  seeing,  was  half  afraid. 
And  they  could  hear  the  trees  outside 
That  swished  against  the  wind,  and  cried, 
In  maenad  fury,  anguished  bliss, 
Against  a  stormy  lover's  kiss; 
And  felt  a  soft  sense,  sweet  and  warm, 
Of  being  alone,  secure,  in  storm, 
Too  drunk  with  loveliness  to  speak, 
Just  touching  lips,  or  brow,  or  cheek, 
While  through  dark  eyes  their  spirits  went 
On  an  eternal  mission  sent, 
Quietly,  holily,  as  they  move 
Who  fear  to  break  the  hush  of  love. 

The  springtime  of  his  life  was  this : 
All  earth  seemed  sweet  to  love  and  kiss, 
The  bark  of  trees,  the  blades  of  grass 
Whereover  softly  he  would  pass, 
The  very  bricks  beneath  his  feet 
Seemed,  with  kinship  to  her,  sweet; 


26  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

And  he  would  stroke  with  lover's  hand 
All  smooth  things, — seemed  to  understand 
At  last  their  beauty  and  their  place, 
Each  seemed  to  lift  a  gentle  face — . 
And  all  the  universe  stood  still 
While  out  of  love  he  drank  his  fill; 
The  roses  blossomed  for  his  sake ; 
For  him  from  dark  the  sun  would  break, 
The  thrush  sang  on  the  lilac  spray, 
For  him  the  night  succeeded  day ; 
His  love  for  her,  earth's  love  of  sun, 
Seemed  mingling  wonderfully  in  one.  .  . 
And  in  this  symphony  of  flame, 
Like  a  dream  his  marriage  came, 
A  minor  voice,  a  silver  laughter 
Of  little  horns;  and  then  rose  after 
The  violins  in  rapid  shine, 
Intricate,  myriad-voiced,  divine, 
Shimmering,  and  the  music  rose 
To  all  the  glory  music  knows,— 
Magniloquent,  a  cosmic  thing, 


EARTH    TRIUMPHANT  27 

As  though  the  universe  should  sing. 
She  was  his  life!     If  she  should  die, 
Motionless  would  his  body  lie, 
They  breathed  one  single  song  of  breath, 
One  life,  and  they  die  one  death.  .  . 
And  if  her  face's  shine  went  dim 
That  instant  would  it  fade  in  him, 
And  all  the  mirth  in  them  be  dead 
And  all  the  light  in  them  be  shed: 
0  wistfully  they  talked  of  this, 
Yet  lost  it  in  a  trembling  kiss.  .  . 
So,  pleasant  hours  and  pleasant  days 
Went  past  them  in  a  giddy  maze, 
And  holding  love  they  held  the  key, 
He  thought,  to  immortality.  .  . 
And  chancing  shortly  after  then 
To  fall  in  with  old  friends  again, 
Who  bore  him  off  perforce  to  see 
The  latest  musical  comedy, — 
To  sink  back  in  a  front-row  seat 
And  watch  the  intricate  flash  of  feet 


28  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Of  well-trained  chorus-girls,  who  came 

To  give  him  ecstasy  and  shame, — 

With  legs  of  lustrous  saffron  silk, 

White  frills,  and  skin  as  white  as  milk, 

With  sexual  laughter,  nods  and  becks, 

Mechanical  display  of  sex, — 

While  through  his  ears,  a  blandishment, 

The  implorings  of  the  music  went: 

Suddenly,  all  this  powdered  lust 

Had  filled  him  with  a  sad  disgust, — 

He  looked  on  meretricious  clothing 

And  straightway  he  was  sick  with  loathing; 

And  while  his  friends  perspired  with  bliss, 

At  thinking  of  a  chorine's  kiss, 

Lo,  beauty  like  a  lightning  came 

To  strike  this  ugliness  with  flame.  .  . 

The  man,  he  mused,  who  once  knows  love 

No  baser  lust  can  ever  move; 

No,  and  no  human  face  could  lure 

His  heart  again.  .  .    His  earth  was  sure. 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  29 

Earth's  irony !    Though  sure  it  seemed, 
Lo,  all  its  sureness  was  but  dreamed. 
Through  brightest  noon  a  darkness  runs. 
Night  whelms  down  the  hugest  suns. 
Death  lodges  him  in  sweetest  flower, 
And  poison  makes  of  sweetest  hour. 

His  wife  di^d  sharp  at  ten  o'clock, 
That  night.  .  .    Yet  time  had  felt  no  shock, 
Nor  paused,  but  still  this  clock  went  on 
Which  told  them  when  her  soul  had  gone. 
She  lay  outstretched  in  candle-gloom, — 
Save  that,  no  whit  was  changed  her  room: 
For  still  the  tall  glass  glimmered  there 
Where  night  and  day  she  did  her  hair, 
And  over  a  chair-back  still  hung  down 
Her  soft  pink  satin  dressing-gown. 
And  yet  a  quietness  was  there 
Which  seemed  the  breathing  of  despair; 
And  though  the  chamber  showed  no  change, 
Yet,  there  was  something  still  and  strange. 


30  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

She  lay  outstretched,  in  candle-light; 
So  she  would  lie,  nor  stir,  all  night, 
Not  move  one  finger,  no,  nor  seek 
A  single  thing,  nor  try  to  speak. 

*~ 

He  could  not  understand  this  thing. 
Nothing,  to  which  his  mind  might  cling! 
And  never  moving,  by  her  side, 
He  sat  and  held  her  hand  and  cried, 
And  stroked  her  arms,  so  pale  they  were, 
And  tried  to  make  her  eyelids  stir 
By  touching  with  his  finger-tips, 
Or  brushing  gently  writh  his  lips, 
Or  breathing  on  them.  .  .    Yet  her  sleep 
Had  covered  her  so  cold  and  deep, 
That  though  a  long,  long  while  he  gazed, 
Hoping  to  see  her  eyelids  raised, — 
Quite  close,  until  he  touched  her  cheek; 
And  though  at  intervals  he'd  speak, 
Though  all  her  little  names  were  said, — 
Still  she  lay  silent,  like  one  dead.  .  . 
At  times,  his  grief  was  passionate 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  31 

And  he  cried  out,  importunate  ; 

And  he  would  raise  her  from  the  bed 

Hold  in  his  arms  her  languid  head, 

And  beg  her  to  be  kind  to  him, 

While  tears  came  and  his  eyes  were  dim; 

And  her  sweet  face,  sweet  piercingly, 

He  kissed  and  kissed,  half  angrily; 

And  panic  madness  took  him,  then, 

Thinking,  not  many  times  again 

He'd  kiss  her  face, — a  little  while; 

A  last  time  he  had  seen  her  smile, — 

Only  this  morning,  when  they  walked 

Out  in  the  garden,  laughed  and  talked, 

While  she  with  pruning-scissors  went, 

Over  her  roses  softly  bent, 

And   clipped   dead   leaves.  .  .     Have  pity, 

God! 

She  would  be  hidden  under  sod, 
Cramped  in  a  dark  and  narrow  place 
With  all  that  dirt  above  her  face, 
And  never  see  the  sun,  the  sky, 


32  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

But  there  in  soundless  darkness  lie 

With  not  a  soul  to  talk  to  her 

While  year  by  year  she  could  not  stir, 

While  rain  came  trickling  downward  cold 

To  damp  her  hair,  and  stain  with  mold 

Her  gentle  face,  her  white  shut  eyes, 

Her  brow  so  .beautiful  and  wise, — ? 

Alone,  and  he  would  never  see 

This  face  again,  not  even  he, 

He,  for  whom  it  meant  so  much, 

Who  shook  with  anguish  but  to  touch. 

So,  panic-struck  he  kissed  her  cheek 

Imploring  her  once  more  to  speak, 

Only  one  little  word  to  say 

Before  they  hurried  her  away; 

He  would  not  let  them!    He  would  keep 

Inviolate  her  quiet  sleep, 

Keep  her  in  her  own  room  here, 

With  shutters  down,  year  after  year, 

Till  some  mysterious  dawn  would  break 

And  she  would  wake,  and  she  would  wake! 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  33 

They  could  not  hide  his  love  away! 
But  he  would  see  her  day  by  day, 
Still  have  his  lover  by  his  side 
Pretending  that  she  had  not  .  .  .  died, 
And  leave  her  little  things  all  there 
As  she  had  left  them ;  on  her  chair 
Her  dressing-gown  where  she  had  thrown, — 
She'd  need  it  when  her  sleep  was  flown. 
It  would  not  be  so  hard,  if  he 
Could  always  steal  in  quietly 
And  have  her  face  to  look  at  there, 
And  touch  the  softness  of  her  hair; 
But  if  they  hid  her  face  from  him, 
His  memory  would  fade  and  dim 
Till  he  could  scarce  remember  her, 
Or  cruel  memory  would  err, 
And  there  would  be  to  touch  and  see 
Nothing  of  all  her  sanctity, 
Never  upon  this  earth  again; 
0  God  have  pity  on  this  pain! — 


34  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

And  then  the  ballet  dancers  came 

Before  his  mind,  and  utter  shame 

Shook  him  with  sobs  that  he  should  be 

In  such  a  sordidness,  while  she 

Caught  at  her  breath,  and  cried  for  him 

To  see  him  ere  her  eyes  went  dim. 

He  told  her  he  had  come ;  but  she 

Lay  there  so  white,  so  silently; 

She  must  see!  and  in  last  despair, 

To  find  if  they  might  still  be  there, 

He  raised  her  eyelids,  small  and  white, 

And  saw  the  brown  eyes  void  of  light, — 

Unseeing,  rigid,  glazing  fast; 

And  then  he  knew  the  truth  at  last; 

And  never  moving,  by  her  side, 

He  sat  and  held  her  hand  and  cried, 

Yearning  to  kiss  her,  yet  afraid 

Of  pain, — if  she  no  motion  made, — 

At  finding  out  her  death  anew; 

And  yet  he  kissed  her,  all  night  through. 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  35 

When  he  first  ventured  out,  the  earth 
Seemed    strange    to   him,    and    stripped   of 

mirth, 

A  vast,  a  grey,  an  empty  place, 
Like  a  huge  body  without  a  face; 
Or  like  a  face  that  had  no  eyes, 
Smooth  flesh  insensible  to  skies. 
No  soul  in  it!  and  he  could  feel 
A  horror, — nausea  made  him  reel. 
He  hated  all  these  fleshly  trees 
Who  sucked  from  death  their  ecstasies; 
The  soulless  grass  he  hated  too ; 
For  with  a  million  mouths  it  drew 
Its  fleshly  substance  from  decay, 
Its  greenness  was  all  made  of  grey. 
The  sun  sprawled  soulless  in  the  street. 
And  so  he  turned  with  giddy  feet 
From  this  drear  world,  all  empty  now, 
Over  his  musty  desk  to  bow, — 
Dull-eyed  to  take  down  many  a  book, 
To  open  them  with  absent  look, 


36  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Swallow  a  scrannel  paragraph 
And  wretchedly,  thereat,  to  laugh. 

A  loneliness,  a  loneliness, 
An  absence  of  all  loveliness, 
Like  misty  rain  began  to  fall 
Upon  his  heart;  and  very  small 
Through  silent  spaces,  all  alone, 
Without  the  light  of  star  or  moon, 
He  travelled,  and  looked  everywhere 
As  though  a  thing  were  hidden  there.  .  . 
To  go  where  he,  with  her,  had  been, 
To  see  the  houses  she  had  seen, 
The  streets  she  walked  in,  and  had  made 
Her  own,  in  sun  or  rain  or  shade: 
This  anguished  him;  in  such  a  street 
He  half  believed  that  he  might  meet, — 
XLast  year  it  often  happened  so, — 
Her  coming,  musingly  and  slow, 
So  soft  in  white,  her  dark  eyes  shining, 
Pink  roses  on  her  straw  hat  twining; 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  37 

She  might  come,  sudden,  round  this  turn ! 
And  thinking  this  his  heart  would  yearn, 
And  all  his  wretehed  pulses  beat ; 
Until  he  saw  the  empty  street, 
The  sidewalk  stretching  far  away, 
And  nought  else,  save  the  light  of  day, 
Or  strangers,  and  the  walls  of  stone 
Which  she  had  somehow  made  her  own. 
And  many  days  had  come  and  gone 
Before  one  morning,  just  at  dawn, 
After  a  long  and  sleepless  night 
He  looked  out  in  the  misty  light 
And  saw  her  garden,  tempest-blown, 
Littered  with  dead  leaves.  .  .     Weeds  had 

grown 

Profusely  in  her  favorite  bed, 
Rose  petals  on  the  loam  were  shed; 
And  seeing  it  neglected  so, 
This   thing    she   loved.  .  .      If   she   should 

know! 
She  must  know!     And  remorse  was  his, 


38  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

He  broke  the  garden's  sanctities, 

Thinking  of  that  last  morning  there 

And  how  the  sunshine  glossed  her  hair, — 

And  how  these  petals,  strewn  in  sun, 

Were  roses  she  had  smiled  upon, 

Or  touched  .  .  .  and  how  she  loved  them 

an, 

And  grieved,  if  one  of  them  should  fall. 
These  roses  that  were  fully  blown 
To  her  as  little  buds  were  known, 
Out  of  their  hearts  a  fragrance  came 
Of  her,  and  he  was  sick  with  shame 
That  all  these  days  he  should  have  left 
Her  in  the  garden  here,  bereft! 
And  often  he  would  turn  to  see 
If  there  behind  him  she  might  be, 
So  close  she  seemed;  but  all  was  bare, 
A  wind,  a  perfume  in  the  air,— 
And  that  was  all.    Yet  when  at  last 
Into  the  house  he  slowly  passed, 
His  heart  wrenched  out  of  him,  to  go 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  39 

Among  the  roses  she  loved  so. 

And  when  her  robin  ran  through  dew, 

And  so  precisely  as  she  knew 

Sang  out  his  early  morning  strain, 

He  thought  he  could  not  bear  the  pain. 

A  loneliness,  a  loneliness, 
An  absence  of  all  loveliness, 
Came  down  upon  his  heart  like  rain, 
Insistent,  gentle  fall  of  pain, 
With  not  a  pause,  and  not  a  let, 
No  chance  was  given  to  forget; 
But  unresisting,  as  the  leaf 
Bends  under  rain,  so  he  in  grief, 
And  always  would  this  rain  have  kept 
To  darken  him,  and  would  have  wept 
Had  sun  come  wounding  at  his  eyes, 
The  brazen  laugh  of  brazen  skies.  .  . 
And  faithlessness  it  would  have  been, 
It  would  have  seemed  the  blackest  sin, 
To  let  this  grief  be  blown  away 


40  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

By  the  windy  light  of  day; — 
One  way  there  was  and  one  way  only 
Of  truth  to  her: — in  being  lonely; 
In  yearning  for  her  day  and  night; 
In  feeling  her  as  loss  of  light; 
As  silence  coming  coldly  round, 
As  loss  of  music,  loss  of  sound; 
Though  still  vague  echo  in  the  air 
Told  that  song  was  lately  there.  .  . 
And  all  day  long  from  room  to  room 
He  wandered  in  the  shuttered  gloom, 
Touching  curtains,  touching  walls, 
Startled  at  his  own  footfalls; 
Or  stood  so  still  he'd  hear  the  chime 
Of  clocks  upstairs,  yet  feared  to  climb 
Those  stairs,  lest  having  gone  he'd  find 
Only  the  hush  she'd  left  behind. 
Her  clock!  and  sudden  anguish  came 
At  thinking  of  the  bitter  shame 
If  he  had  let  it  stop,  unwound; 
Yet  it  was  going  still,  he  found, 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  41 

Ticking  on  her  mantelpiece; 

He  would  not  let  it  ever  cease ; 

For  all  its  impulse  came  from  her, 

Without  her  hands  it  would  not  stir, 

But  she  had  wound  it,  patiently, 

The  very  day,  perhaps,  that  she  .  .  . 

He  took  the  key  with  dim  eyes  then 

And  seemed  to  touch  her  hand  again; 

0  God  if  for  a  second's  space 

She'd  come  and  let  him  see  her  face, 

While  she  was  standing  there  that  day 

Musing,  gazing  far  away, 

And  with  slow  hand  revolved  this  key!  .  . 

And  then  he  realized  that  he 

Was  in  her  room,  and  then  he  cried, 

For  all  was  just  as  when  she  died; — 

Over  a  chair-back  hanging  down 

Her  soft  pink  satin  dressing-gown; 

Drawn  curtains,  luminous  with  sun, 

Two  candles  into  sockets  run; 

And  still  untouched  upon  her  bed 


42  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

The  pillow,  hollowed  by  her  head. 

And  this  he  stroked  with  finger-tips 

And  touched  with  never-sated  lips; 

Into  this  pillow  and  this  sheet 

Had  passed  her  body's  little  heat, 

And  thence  upon  the  air  had  gone 

As  darkness  goes  out  upon  dawn. 

And  then  a  while,  a  spirit  dazed, 

On  all  her  little  things  he  gazed, 

Saw  in  the  closet  hanging  there 

Soft  dresses  that  she  used  to  wear, 

Her  hats,  her  ribbons,  laces  laid 

In  rows,  some  by  her  own  hands  made.  .  . 

No  one  would  ever  change  this  room, 

Forever  would  it  stay  in  gloom, 

Untouched  .  .  .  and  yet,  since  she  liked  sun, 

Over  the  floor  he  let  it  run, 

A  singing,  dancing  flood  of  light, 

Making  the  hazy  ceiling  bright, 

And  making  all  the  room  so  gay 

That  he  was  hurt,  and  crept  away, 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  43 

Resolving  not  to  come  there  more. 
He  stood  a  space:  then  locked  the  door, 
And  took  the  key  with  him,  and  went 
Downstairs  again  to  banishment. 

A  loneliness,  a  loneliness, 

An  absence  of  all  loveliness, 

It  came  like  mingled  snow  and  rain, 

Softly,  and  yet  a  steady  pain, 

And  mutely  like  the  winter  earth 

In  dumb  forgetfulness  of  mirth 

His  heart  lay  still;  and  did  not  move, 

So  crushed  with  unforgotten  love. 

It  was  a  stab  of  pain  to  go 

To  places  that  she  did  not  know, 

See  houses  she  had  never  seen 

In  cities  where  she'd  never  been; 

And  though  it  was  a  pang  to  pass 

Through  streets  she  loved,  or  over  grass 

Whereon  together  they  had  strayed, 

Yet  he  preferred  this  pang, — afraid 


44  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

To  steal  through  streets  that  nothing  kept 

Of  her  who  now  forever  slept. 

And  so,  and  always,  back  he  came, 

He  burned,  yet  could  not  leave  the  flame; 

Through  streets  that  tortured  him  he  stole, 

Past  houses,  trees,  that  cut  his  soul; 

And  once,  when  happening  to  see 

A  place  where  they  had  taken  tea, 

He  dared  not  face  the  endless  pain. 

Of  passing  it,  and  so  again 

Went  in,  alone,  for  tea  and  cake, 

Took  just  the  things  that  she  would  take, 

And  stared  at  them,  and  went  away 

Leaving  them,  untouched,  on  the  tray. 

0,  and  how  often  if  by  chance 

Some  beauty  held  his  absent  glance, 

Some  beauty  which  he  could  not  share 

With  her, — sudden  it  seemed  unfair, 

That  he  should  be  alive  to  see 

This  loveliness,  and  yet,  not  she! 

And  so  he  turned  his  back,  was  driven 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  45 

Back  to  her  garden  as  to  haven, 
To  touch  her  roses,  care  for  them, 
Pick  scales  away  from  leaf  and  stem, 
And  suffer  endlessly  the  pang 
When  cheerfully  her  robin  sang; 
While  else,  upon  his  hungry  ears, 
Came  only  quiet,  still  as  tears.  .  . 
Lying  awake  sometimes  it  seemed, 
When  long  and  wakefully  he  dreamed 
Nightmarish  dreams,  that  he  must  spend 
All  of  his  life,  without  an  end, 
In  going  to  see,  however  far, 
All  things  she'd  looked  at,  earth  or  star, 
House  and  face  and  sea  and  steeple, 
And  comedies,  and  all  the  people 
That  she  had  ever  seen  in  trains, 
And  all  the  hills  and  all  the  plains, 
And  all  the  sunsets  in  the  sky 
And  all  that  she  had  seen  go  by, 
Hear  all  the  music  she  had  heard, 
Read  all  she'd  read,  each  little  word, 


46  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

And  walk  on  stones  she'd  walked  upon, 
And  go  on  journeys  she  had  gone, 
Touch  her  leaf  and  touch  her  flower, 
And  day  by  day  and  hour  by  hour 
Unravel  all  her  life  again, 
Unknot  each  point  with  subtlest  pain, 
Minute  by  minute,  till  he  had — 
O  God,  till  he  was  going  mad! 
And  then  he  covered  face,  and  cried 
O  God  that  she,  not  he,  had  died ! 

And  yet,  time  passed,  time  somehow  passed, 

Into  his  old  life  he  was  cast, 

Drew  down  his  windows,  shut  out  sun, 

And  took  his  books  down  one  by  one, 

To  read  old  tales  of  vanished  times, 

To  while  the  hours  with  gentle  rhymes, 

And  bury  under  word  and  word 

The  clock's  tick  so  forever  heard. 

And  each  philosophy,  each  creed, 

With  eager  glances  he  would  read, 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  47 

Hoping,  at  his  journey's  end, 
That  he  would  blissfully  ascend 
Into  heavens  filled  with  peace 
Where  all  his  weariness  would  cease, 
Where  gentle  solace  he  would  find 
And  patience  that  would  lead  him  blind 
Through  all  life's  waste;  or  at  the  last, 
Wlien  all  the  desert  had  been  past, 
To  give  him  faith  that  he  might  meet 
In  death  one  who  alive  was  sweet. 
His  grief  now  was  a  quiet  thing, 
Gentle,  and  not  so  quick  to  wing, 
And  now  the  silence  of  this  place 
Was  home  to  him,  and  he  could  face 
Her  picture,  even:  pain  dwelled  there, 
Yet  it  was  pain  that  he  could  bear. 
And  now  it  was  a  sacred  rite 
Beside  her  picture,  every  night, 
To  set  two  candles,  there  to  shine 
All  night,  as  if  it  were  a  shrine ; 
And  always  on  his  desk  to  keep, 


48  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Where  dusty  books  were  piled  up  deep, 

Two  roses  in  a  little  vase; 

And  often  then  his  eyes  he'd  raise 

To  look,  or  stroke  a  petal's  cheek, 

Or  listen,  wishing  they  would  speak.  .  . 

And  then  go  on  with  quickened  eye 

To  read  queer  tales  of  times  gone  by, 

Of  magic  mirrors,  magic  rings, 

Wicked,  elfin,  holy  things, 

Of  flying  horses,  talking  birds, 

All  written  down  in  dewy  words, 

And  many  things  of  ancient  time 

Told  with  musick  and  with  rhyme. 

And  in  this  world  of  books  again 

Fainter  grew  the  world  of  men, 

And  paler  grew  the  light  of  sun; 

And  by  wan  light  of  star  and  moon, 

That  gentler  was  upon  his  eyes, 

Coming  from  remoter  skies, 

He  mused  abroad  and  tried  to  find 

The  solace  that's  within  the  mind. 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  49 

What  was  it? — Often  he  read  on 
Till  night  was  dusking  into  dawn, 
Till  the  red  sun  swimming  came 
To  turn  the  dew-drops  into  flame, 
And  all  the  roosters,  crowing  shrill, 
Stirred  the  town,  in  twilight  still, 
Answering  from  wall  to  wall, 
Waiting  betwixt  call  and  call; 
Till  upon  the  mantelpiece 
Both  the  candles  were  but  grease, 
All  their  light  gone,  only  grey. 
Then  he  put  his  books  away, 
Weary,  with  a  weight  of  grief, 
Too  tired  to  turn  another  leaf; 
And  making  of  his  palm  a  cup 
He  picked  the  roses'  petals  up, — 
Where  they'd  fallen  on  green  baize, 
Softly,  underneath  the  vase, — 
And  climbed  the  silent  stairs  to  bed, 
Slowly,  with  a  gentle  tread, 


50  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Lest  he  make  an  echo  stir, 

And  lest  he  wake  the  ghost  of  her.  .  . 

In  weariness,  in  weariness, 

He  found  a  balm  for  loneliness, 

And  all  the  summer,  in  the  dim, 

His  dusty  volumes  wearied  him, 

They  blurred  his  eyes  and  fogged  his  brain, 

They  gave  him  sleep  to  dull  his  pain  ; 

And  farther,  farther  from  his  ken 

Receded  that  small  world  of  men, 

That  world  which  strangely  left  behind 

A  whirling  sunlight  in  his  mind, 

A  world  of  color,  shape,  and  sound, 

Where  grass  grew  thickly  on  the  ground, 

Where  densely  hung  the  leaves  of  green 

With  sparrows  rustling  in  between  .  .  . 

While  sun  was  here  and  sun  was  there 

Putting  life  in  branches  bare, 

And  myriad  rain-drops  came  in  showers 

Like  lovers  to  the  quiet  flowers, 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  51 

And  robins  all  the  sweeter  thrilled 
Because  their  throats  with  rain  were  filled. 
And  all  earth  was  a  lovely  place 
That  worshipped  at  one  shining  face!— 
A  world  of  spring  ...  He  looked  out  now, 
The  leaves  were  sallow  on  the  bough, 
Black  boughs,  where  yellow  leaves  and  red 
Hung  limp,  while  some,  already  shed, 
Lay  matted  dankly  on  the  earth 
Blown  down  in  midst  of  bacchic  mirth; 
And  over  all,  the  dark  boughs  through, 
Sharply,  the  sky's  autumnal  blue  .  .  . 
A  little  while,  grey  sky  and  snow  .  .  . 
And  of  all  this,  what  did  she  know? 
Could  she  feel  dead  leaves  settling  down, 
The  scarlet  maple,  oak  leaves  brown? 
These  purple  asters,  did  she  see? 
None  who  had  loved  them  more  than  she ! 
And,  strange,  he  longed  to  write  to  her, 
To  tell  her  how  these  earth-things  were, 
Tell  how  her  roses  blossomed  so, 


52  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

And  robin  left  two  weeks  ago  .  .  . 
How  all  the  leaves  on  all  the  trees 
Were  holding  bacchic  mysteries, 
Drinking  some  strange  autumn  breath 
Of  subtle  air  that  gave  them  death : 
Death  most  glorious  ever  seen 
Living  fire  that  burst  from  green 
Consuming  all  the  trees  like  song 
And  licking  heaven  with  flaming  tongue! 
Then  suddenly  fell  his  bolt  of  shame : 
To  say,  'earth  goes  on,  just  the  same!  .  .  . 
Fierce  autumn  burns  in  every  leaf  .  .  . ' 
He  did  sharp  penance,  then,  of  grief. 

Sometimes  his  wound  bled  fresh  again: 
As  one  day,  when  in  misty  rain, 
When  rain  was  dripping  from  wet  eaves 
And  weighing  down  the  fevered  leaves, 
He  walked,  scarce  conscious  of  the  way, 
Into  the  churchyard  where  she  lay. 
Almost  a  fortnight  he'd  let  pass. 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  53 

Now  on  the  wet  and  fading  grass, 

Lay  dead  leaves  in  a  yellow  heap 

As  though  they  came  with  her  to  sleep, — i 

Soft  maple  leaves,  and  flaming  yet, 

So  bright  they  were  with  being  wet. 

And  everything  was  there  so  still, 

So  quiet  the  trees  stood  on  the  hill, 

That  there  was  not  a  sound,  except 

The  little  rain,  that  always  kept 

A  pattering,  a  pattering, 

On  earth  and  leaves  and  everything. 

It  seemed  all  earth  forbore  to  stir 

So  he  might  bend  and  speak  to  her, 

Touch  wet  grass  with  finger-tips 

And  close  to  earth  put  down  his  lips, 

And  bring  her  hidden  body  near 

So  she  might  hear,  so  she  might  hear. 

What  did  she  think  of,  all  this  space? 

And  did  this  cold  rain  wet  her  face? 

O  God  he  longed  to  see  her  so ! 

Only  an  hour,  so  they  might  know 


54  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

All  griefs  that  each  one  grieved  alone, 
So  pain  might  vanish,  being  known ! 
So  he  might  say  he  loved  her  still, 
And  yet,  at  times,  against  his  will, 
Her  sweet  face  vanished  from  his  mind, 
A  fire  blown  out,  nor  could  he  find 
For  hours  that  white  face  anywhere; 
If  he  could  only  touch  her  hair 
With  fingers,  as  he  used  to  do, 
So  soft,  when  all  alone,  they  two, 
They  sat  at  home  on  days  like  this, — 
If  he  could  only  have  one  kiss 
Of  lips  or  cheek,  or  on  her  eyes, — 
(Both  eyes,  for  fear  of  jealousies) — 
He'd  know  her  loveliness  again 
And  there'd  be  beauty  in  this  pain. 
What  loneliness  she  must  feel  here! 
And  then  he  seemed  to  see  her  clear, 
Her  small  face  wonderfully  at  rest, 
Her  small  hands  folded  on  her  breast, 
So  pallid,  in  her  crimson  laid, 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  55 

Seeming  to  dream,  so  unafraid  .  .  . 
And  yet,  this  calm  of  hers  was  lie ; — 
For  she  had  gone  without  good-bye, 
Without  their  good-bye  kiss,  which  they 
Gave  always,  when  they  went  away; 
And  he  knew  full  well,  thinking  this, 
Her  heart  had  broken  for  that  kiss, — 
Having,  without  his  touch,  to  go 
Out  on  a  dark  she  did  not  know  .  .  . 
Why  did  she  lie  there  now  so  still, 
And  he  so  close? — Could  not  her  will 
Push  earth  and  leaves  and  grass  aside, 
Could  she  not  hear  him  if  he  cried? — 
And  then  his  whole  heart  burst  with  grief, 
His  hand  was  on  a  rainy  leaf, 
The  wet  grass  pressed  his  mouth,  while  he 
Sobbed  her  name,  twice,  quietly  .  .  . 
Still  there  was  not  a  sound,  except 
The  little  rain,  that  always  kept 
On  earth,  and  leaves,  and  everything, 
A  pattering,  a  pattering. 


56  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Yet,  though  he  often  pulled  the  blind 
To  shut  out  sun,  within  his  mind 
Came  back  again  that  world  of  spring 
Where  earth  in  sunlight  seemed  to  sing, 
And  green  boughs  moved  against  the  sky, 
With  talking  leaves,  and  birds  flashed  by; 
And  brooding  on  an  ancient  page, 
Hushed  waters  of  a  frozen  age, 
Above  those  twilight  waters  came 
This  world  like  living  sun  of  flame, 
And  all  his  grief  began  to  seem, 
Beside  that  freshness,  like  a  dream. 
It  all  came  clear  to  him,  and  sweet; 
He  felt  cool  grass  beneath  his  feet, 
Was  conscious  of  the  moving  earth, 
Felt  stirrings  of  her  living  mirth  .  .  . 
And  all  his  books  seemed  grey  and  dead 
Like  withered  petals  long  time  shed, 
And  all  philosophy  seemed  dust 
That  whirled  strange  shapes  for  every  gust; 
Never  would  he  discover  there 


EARTH    TRIUMPHANT  57 

A  consolation  for  despair. 

His  clock  struck  nine,  his  clock  struck  ten  ; 

And  still  he  mused  on  this;  and  then 

He  felt  within  his  soul  ascend, 

Quietly  as  a  breath  of  wind 

That  blows  in  May  through  apple-bloom, 

A  cool  light  coming  through  the  gloom; 

And  in  his  room  there  seemed  to  be 

A  fragrance,  it  was  surely  she, 

For  all  his  spirit  seemed  to  float, 

So  easily,  and  from  his  throat 

A  pressure  gave,  and  all  his  face 

Seemed  light  with  some  celestial  grace ; 

Across  his  brow  her  cool  hands  lay, 

He  seemed  to  hear  her  laugh,  and  say 

That  it  was  time,  high  time  at  last, 

For  grief  to  be  forgot  and  past, 

That  he,  philosophising  done, 

Must  lift  his  face  again  to  sun 

And  go  where  apple-blossoms  blew 

Like  snows  across  the  fields,  wherethrough 


58  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

The  blue-birds,  with  their  tawny  breasts, 

Glanced  in  sunlight  to  their  nests. 

For  he  must  rise  and  live  again, 

And  walk  among  the  world  of  men, 

Touch  earth,  and  take  her  wind  and  rain 

Gently  to  heal  him  of  his  pain  .  .  . 

And  then  truth  came,  he  seemed  to  rise 

Released  at  last  through  quiet  skies, 

Through  silver  airs  of  heaven,  whereon 

Hung  gentlest  music  of  a  dawn, 

And  all  that  music  seemed  to  be 

A  praise  of  being  high  and  free, 

Of  coming  joy  and  going  sorrow 

Of  going  night  and  coming  morrow ; 

And  wings  released  at  last  for  flight 

Flashed  whitely  upward  through  the  night . . . 

Three  petals,  pink  upon  green  baize, 

He  picked  up  underneath  the  vase, 

And  on  the  mantelpiece  he  turned 

One  candle  that  uneven  burned ; 

And  then  looked  outward  through  the  night 


EARTH    TRIUMPHANT  59 

And  saw  the  autumn  stars,  so  bright, 

Shine  downward  through  the  branches  dark, 

Already  leafless,  drear  and  stark. 

Alternate  day  and  night  a  while, 

And  lo,  once  more  in  green  would  smile 

Maple  and  sycamore  and  oak  .  .  . 

Then  something  little  in  him  broke, 

And  all  was  plain :  for  she  would  be 

Unhappy  just  as  long  as  he, 

And  sad  as  long  as  he  was  sad  ; 

But  she  would  laugh,  he  being  glad!  .  .  . 

Dawn  came,  new  dawn.     The  moon  went 

down. 

Cocks  crowed  across  the  sleepy  town  ; 
Languid  and  faint  the  red  sun  came 
And  bathed  the  steeples  in  young  flame  ; 
And  a  white  peace  flowed  wide  between 
This  lover  and  his  ghostly  queen. 

Go  winter,  and  come  quickly  spring! 
Robin,  come  north  again  and  sing! — 


60  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Over  the  snowy  earth  he  walked, 

All  nature  smiled  to  him  and  talked, 

And  this  remote  blue  winter  sky 

So  unapproachable,  so  high, 

Smiled  friendly  down, — he  thought  it  said 

That  past  days  were  forever  dead, 

With  cloud  and  dark,  and  now  for  earth 

Quiet  it  shone,  with  candid  mirth. 

And  all  these  birch  trees,  shaking  bare 

And  silvery  in  the  winter  air, 

Were  conquering  a  forgotten  grief, 

Already  dreaming  of  new  leaf! 

The  sunset  gleamed  on  ice  and  snow, 

The  western  hills  were  all  aglow, 

And  through  the  oaks  the  red  sun  dropped; 

And  then  the  bitter  north  wind  stopped, 

And  underneath  this  ice  and  snow 

He  heard  the  small  brook  singing  flow, — 

As  though  in  April's  sun  and  shadow 

It  watered  cowslips  in  a  meadow. 

The  frosty  night  came  cold  and  clear; 


EARTH    TRIUMPHANT  61 

Yet  in  that  stillness  he  could  hear 

Under  the  whiteness  and  the  cold 

Roots  starting  in  the  frozen  mold  .  .  . 

And  then  he  felt  new  life  in  him 

Like  flowers  of  red  surge  up  and  swim 

Through  all  his  blood;  and  all  earth  moved 

With  life  of  her  whom  he  had  loved, 

Till  she  was  earth  and  earth  was  she, 

She  was  this  snow,  this  brook,  this  tree  .  .  . 

And  joy  rose  up  in  him,  and  song, 

As  buoyantly  he  walked  along : 

Go  winter,  and  come  quickly  spring, 

Robin,  come  north  again  and  sing! 

Spring  in  his  soul  so  strong  he  felt 
That  when  earth's  snows  began  to  melt 
He  deemed  that  it  was  earth  and  he 
In  subtly  planned  conspiracy; 
For  earth  was  she  and  she  was  earth, 
She  was  his  mistress  and  his  mirth, 
And  she  and  he  on  pleasure  bent 


62  EARTH    TRIUMPHANT 

This  sunlight  and  this  joyance  sent. 
What  joy  this  was!    From  sunny  eaves 
Drops  sparkled  down,  and  grass  and  leaves 
Already  through  earth's  snow  appeared 
Where  earth  by  hazy  sun  was  cleared ; 
And  down  the  streets  began  to  flow 
Bright  rivers  from  the  dying  snow, 
Rapidly  braiding  streams  that  sung 
Melodious  spring,  impetuous,  young; 
And  icicles  fell  tinkling  down 
And  earth  came  upward,  steaming  brown, 
And  wet  snow  from  the  roofs  was  slipping 
And  everywhere  was  ceaseless  dripping, 
Flash  and  patter  and  breathing  ease, 
Of  stirring  earth  and  stretching  trees, 
And  pools  of  water,  blue  in  sun. 
Spring  miracle  once  more  begun! — 
And  walking  under  warm  blue  skies 
Warming  the  eyelids  on  his  eyes 
He  felt  well  what  it  was  to  be 
A  seed  in  all  this  revelry, 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  63 

To  feel  the  soil  grow  warm  above, 
And  rain-drops  stealing  down  like  love! 
But  best  of  all  was  knowing  this: 
That  all  this  was  his  lover's  kiss, 
His  lover  come,  in  guise  of  earth, 
To  justify,  for  all  time,  mirth! 

So  for  a  flight  of  magic  days 

In  these  ways  and  in  other  ways 

The  reawakened  life  in  him 

Woke  tunings  intricate  with  whim, — 

Slow  earthy  sequences  of  tone, 

Earth-horns,  an  under-earth  trombone, 

A  tentative  perplexing  din  ; 

Whence  softly  rose  a  violin 

To  sing  an  April  phrase,  and  then 

Was  lost  in  jargonings  again. 

From  this  confusion,  mingling  sweet, 

It  needed  but  a  single  beat 

Swiftly  to  draw  and  lead  in  one 

Those  subtle  sequences  of  tone : 


64  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Out  of  the  deeps  each  voice  to  bring 
In  waking  symphony  to  sing, 
Bidding  it  quicken,  bidding  it  rise, 
Steadfast  to  shine  like  stars  in  skies, 
To  cry  out  against  all  that  is, 
To  shine,  to  shine  with  ecstasies, 
Till  all  the  stars  grew  dim  thereby, 
Its  vast  wings  shadowed  all  the  sky, 
Its  shadow  fell  on  moon  and  sun 
And  sun  and  moon  grew  dull  and  dun, 
And  all  the  starry  multitude 
Were  smitten  into  servitude, 
And  love's  compulsion  made  them  sing 
'Our  glory  grace  this  marriage  ring!' 

The  sun  shot  lustre  through  her  hair, 
The  wind  made  golden  havoc  there, 
A  whirling  whiteness  was  her  dress ; 
O  trebled  was  her  loveliness 
Upon  these  hills,  beneath  this  blue, 
These  dusky  cedars  walking  through ! 


EARTH   TRIUMPHANT  65 

Along  the  top  of  the  world  they  walked 

And  laughed,  and  ran,  and  lightly  talked; 

The  sunlight  captured  even  their  words 

Making  them  flash  as  bright  as  birds, 

Giving  the  heaviest  phrases  wing 

And  bidding  simplest  words  to  sing! 

Yet,  seeing  the  sunlight  on  her  cheek, 

It  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  speak, 

For  all  her  body  shone  like  wit, 

Earth's  wit,  a  grace  so  exquisite, — 

Exquisite  laughter,  flashing  wild, — 

That  he  was  tongue-tied,  like  a  child. 

O  wonderful  sunshine  of  this  day, 

O  wonderful  music  of  this  May, 

In  her  they  reached  their  perfect  song; 

And  as  she  walked  so  white  along, 

Whitely  and  joyously,  as  in  sun 

The  wonderful  sea-waves  singing  run, 

He  felt  the  earth  dissolving  dim 

And  slipping  out  from  under  him, 

And  dizzily,  dizzily  he  was  borne, 


66  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

And  stone  and  tree  from  him  were  torn, — 
Nothing  to  cling  to! — Naught  but  air  ... 
And  then  the  sunshine  on  her  hair, 
Her  shining  eyes,  her  moving  feet, 
Her  lips  that  talking  moved  so  sweet, 
Her  young  neck,  and  the  hands  she  raised 
To  shade  blue  eyes  from  sun  that  blazed, — 
These,  in  a  world  that  reeled  unsure, 
Seemed  stars  to  hold  to,  shone  secure  .  .  . 
And  unapproachable  and  high 
She  bent  above  him  like  the  sky  ; 
And  yet,  not  unapproachable; 
For  tone  and  laughter  seemed  to  tell 
That  though  she  moved  so  high  and  free 
Yet  she  could  lean  to  such  as  he, 
And  like  the  sunlit  April  skies 
Shoot  golden  laughter  through  cold  eyes  .  .  . 
Then  through  a  world  of  flowering  green 
She  seemed  to  lean,  she  seemed  to  lean, 
The  whole  blue  sky  seemed  bending  down, 
With  swift  warm  winds  about  him  blown, 


EARTH  TRIUMPHANT  67 

He  saw  her  eyes,  he  saw  her  cheek, 
So  close,  and  yet  he  could  not  speak, 
But  still  bent  backward,  striving  still 
To  meet  and  break  all  heaven's  will, 
To  fight  this  splendor  from  his  face, 
To  find  a  little  foothold  space, 
To  laugh; — then  earth  began  to  swing, 
Swiftly  his  hands  flashed  out  to  cling, 
And,  as  it  were  for  one  kiss  meant, 
Towards  her  mouth  his  whole  soul  went, 
And  warmness  and  a  stillness  came 
And  all  his  heart  was  fused  with  flame. 
Earth  triumphant,  and  love  declared! 
All  earth  held  breath,  the  lovers  stared 
Each  in  the  other's  laughing  eyes, 
While  quiet  music  went  through  skies; 
And  a  blackbird  in  a  cedar  swinging 
Straight  from  their  own  one  heart  seemed 

singing  .  .  . 

So  wonderful,  they  stood  quite  still 
While  soft  sea-wind  came  up  the  hill, 


68  EARTH   TRIUMPHANT 

Quiet  as  earth  was  when  she  lay 

All  breathless,  waiting  the  kiss  of  day; 

Quiet  as  God,  when  he  had  made 

These  stars,  and,  seeing,  was  half  afraid. 

Love  was  alive  once  more,  and  came 

Out  of  the  earth  like  uttered  flame 

In  this  sweet  body,  in  this  sweet  face, 

This  exquisite,  living,  laughing  grace. 

And  yet,  old  love,  old  faith,  he  deemed, 

Stood  firm ;  for  now  again  it  seemed 

Her  brightness  broke  from  earth,  and  this 

Was  their  reunion  ...  In  this  kiss 

Her  soul  came  back  to  him  again, 

After  long  absence,  bitter  pain  ; 

Her  mouth,  her  eyes  these  seemed  to  be, — 

Lo,  re-embodied,  this  was  she! — 

Earth  sang,  and  trembled ;  down  went  sun, 
The  dark  poured  out,  the  day  was  done  .  . 
So,  in  a  year's  time,  triumphed  earth,— 
This  May,  as  last  May,  brought  him  mirth. 


YOUTH. 

0  EARTH,   0  mother   dust,   green   star  of 

heaven, 

Gay,  rapid  dancer,  lover  of  the  sun, 
Thou  of  his  many  brides  to  whom  was  given 
The  thrill  of  life,  still  starting,  never  done: 
Under  whose  mother  heart  warm  quickenings 

run, 

The  fires  of  birth  and  tremulous  ecstasy, 
The  boon  and  curse  of  his  fierce  love  of  thee : 


0  mother  dust,  so  careless  of  thy  young ; 
Who,  still  intent  upon  thy  love's  bright  face, 
Know  of  us  only  as  thy  love-song,  sung 
By  thee,  to  him,  passionately,  through  space ; 
Bright    laughing    queen,    dancer    of    silver 
grace, 

69 


70  YOUTH 

Who,  so  absorbed  in  thy  sweet  dance's  mov 
ing, 
Care  not  for  us,  the  children  of  thy  loving, — 

Saving  that  thou  must  change,  from  time  to 

time, 

The  ageing  for  the  youthful,  grey  for  green, 
Lest,  in  thy  love-song,  Sun  should  miss  its 

chime, 
And  thou,  without  thy  vesture,   seem  less 

queen : 

This  cry  to  thee,  out  of  thy  soul,  unseen, 
One  of  thy  children  lifts  in  desolation, — 
Asking  to  know  the  cause  of  his  creation, 

Asking  to  know  if  thou  hast  heart  for  him, 
And  for  all  these,  the  children  of  thy  womb, 
Who  grope,  and  cry,   and  call  on  thee  in 

hymn, 
On   whom   thou   smilest   now,   now   givest 

gloom; 


YOUTH  71 

Thou    scatterest   darkness    upon    seed    and 

bloom, 
And  some  thou  lovest,  some  thou  makest 

die: 
Therefore  one  of  thy  children  lifts  this  cry, 

Into  the  utter  darkness  of  thy  being, 
Hoping  that  it  may  somehow  dimly  reach, 
Cry  to  thy  heart,  and  bend  thy  heart  to  see 
ing 

These  loveless,  motherless  children  who  be 
seech  ; 

So  mayest  thou  then  give  justice  unto  each, 
Or  happiness,  maybe ;  or,  if  that  were  pain, 
Take  back  our  breaths  and  give  us  dark 
again. 


The  surf  broke  whitely  along  Coney  Beach, 
But  he  was  sickened  by  that  shrieking  crowd, 


72  YOUTH 

So,  with  a  slow  strong  overhanded  reach, 
Out  for  the  sea  he  swam,  with  head  low 

bowed ; 
The  June  sky  shone  bright  blue,  without  a 

cloud ; 
Fiercely    over    the    sea    the    south    wind 

whipped, 
Spray  blew,  gulls  veered,  the  sea  raged  in, 

white-lipped ; 

But  he  was  goaded  by  that  roar  of  throats, 
He  hated  them,  they  had  no  strength,  no 

nerve, 

They  did  not  dare  to  strike  beyond  the  floats, 
They  clung  to  ropes  .  .  .  While  he,  with  dip 

and  swerve, 

With  face  turned  back,  and  brown  arm's  tire 
less  curve, 

Fought  with  the  sea's  alternate  fall  and  rise, 
Burst  through,  shook  water  out  of  mouth 
and  eyes; 


YOUTH  73 

Then  steadied,  with  a  hard  and  rhythmic 

stroke, 
Forged  through  the  glorious  tumult  of  cold 

green, 
Slid  down  smooth  backs,  shot  under  crests 

that  broke, 

Rose  strong  again,  laughed  inwardly,  serene; 
By  god,  the  real  thing,  this!     He  tingled 

keen  ; 

True  as  a  knife  he  flashed  in  sea  and  sun, 
And  laughed  for  joy  to  feel  the  strong  blood 

run: 

To   feel  his  muscles  working  smooth  and 

strong, 

Beating  this  senseless  force,  bitterly  beating, 
Crushing  the  sea,  his  body  all  one  song, 
Fierce  and  sweet,  and  merciless  in  defeat 
ing  ... 

Slowly  the  beach's  sounds  grew  faint  and 
fleeting, 


74  YOUTH 

He  was  alone,  exultant,  with  the  sea, 
He   had   flung   earth    away,   his   soul   was 
free  .  .  . 

Flung  off  mankind  and  all  its  sordidness, — 
Its  pettiness,  all  its  cowardice,  its  greed; 
Its  timid,  sneaking  lusts,  its  bloodlessness, — 
Throats  that  if  cut,  he  thought,  could  hardly 

bleed  .  .  . 

He  had  flung  all  this  off,  and  he  was  freed : 
Of  time  and  space,  and  all  laws  made  by 

man; 
For  out,  where  no  tides  are,  his  strong  soul 

ran. 

Wind  blew,  sun  shone,  the  sea  came  with  a 

roar, 
White  burst  and  smother  of  foam,  with  green 

and  blue, 
Endlessly,    rapidly,    dizzying    towards    the 

shore 


YOUTH  75 

Wave  upon  wave  under  the  wind  they  flew ; 
Sharply  above  him  came  the  sea-gulls'  mew, 
He  saw  their  white  wings  flash,  their  bodies 

lifting, 
The  yellow  feet  held  close;   he  saw  them 

drifting 

Swiftly  and  lightly,  like  a  shimmer,  away, 
Down  wind,  and  wheel, — he  saw  the  keen 

eyes  turning  .  .  . 
The  air  came  strong,  he  breathed  new  life 

to-day, 
Each  hard  breath  set  his  soul  more  fiercely 

burning  ; 

Life  to  a  furious  life  in  him  was  yearning ; 
Youth  towered  and  shone  in  him,  flamed  in 

his  eyes, 
And  he  rose  brightly  up  in  clear  bright  skies. 

By  god,  the  real  thing,  this! — He  turned  and 
lay 


76  YOUTH 

At  ease,  rising  and  falling,  breathing  deep, 

And  loved  the  sky,  and  looked  across  the 

bay  — 
Over  that  blue  floor  watched  the  black  squalls 

sweep, 
Filling  white  sails  and  making  schooners 

leap, 
Trailing  the  thin  smoke  swiftly  from  the 

ferry, 
Blowing  the  spray  from  wave-tops,  mad  and 

merry  .  .  . 

The  real  thing,  this!  and  all  these  endless 

days, 

These  days  of  senseless  drudgery,  it  was  this 
That  set  his  soul  in  fever, — in  a  craze, — 
To  break  away,  to  feel  the  crushing  bliss 
Of  life  that  wars  with  life, — the  seethe  and 

hiss, — 

Arm  shattering  wave,  and  blind  wave  smash 
ing  face, 


YOUTH  77 

Laughter  and  shout  of  wind,  and  gulls  in 
race! 

The  surge  washed  over  him ;  he  lay  at  ease, 

With  head  thrown  back,  rising  and  falling 
slow  ; 

And  he  scorned  life,  now,  as  he  scorned  these 
seas, 

They  fought  him  hard,  but  could  not  over 
throw  ; 

He  was  the  stronger  life,  and  they  must  go ; 

Past  his  cheek  went  weeds  and  bubbles 
streaming, 

Sun  flashed,  the  foam  burst  white,  but  he 
lay  dreaming. 

^  \Beauty  and  strength  and  youth— he  was  all 

these ; 

[e  knew  his  power;  he  was  the  purest  life, 
iife  as  it  came  up  out  of  slimy  seas 
/Eons  ago  .  .  .  ready  and  strong  for  strife, 


78  YOUTH 

Armed  with  a  thirst  that  glittered  like  a 

knife, 

A  lust  for  life,  for  power,  a  hot  clear  passion 
All  earth  unto  his  own  heart's  peace  to  fash 
ion  .  .  . 

He  was  all  this, — selfish  and  fierce  and 
strong, 

Hating  the  weak,  and  all  things  he  could 
beat, 

Knowing  that  strength  was  right  and  weak 
ness  wrong, 

Knowing  that  death  was  bitter  and  life  was 
sweet, 

His  days  a  fruit  to  crush  with  hands  and 
feet; 

No  hell,  no  heaven  there  was,  no  god  or  devil, 

They  were  but  snares,  and  snares  were  good 
and  evil; 

By  god,  he  saw  it  now !  there  were  no  laws, 
Not  one  in  nature  ...  strength  was  justice 
there, 


YOUTH  79 

Every    heart    for    itself    with     teeth    and 

claws  .  .  . 
But  man!  he  saw  man  creeping,  with  sleek 

hair, 

To  kill  the  strong, — in  crowds,  it  wasn't  fair, 
They  came  and  snarled  and  stamped  him  into 

dirt, 
Virtuously,    for    fear    his    strength    might 

hurt!  .  .  . 

He  lashed  out  with  his  feet,  broke  wave  with 

hands, 
Shot  green  and  shimmering  through,  made 

eddies  spin, 

Fast  as  the  sea  he  burst  towards  the  sands, 
His  heart  cried  out,  he  felt  new  life  begin, 
And  like  a  god  he  flashed  towards  the  din 
Of  men  and  women  bickering  on  the  beach; 
Seeing    the    women    splashing,    screech    on 

screech, 


80  YOUTH 

And  fat  men  basking  bellies  in  the  sun, 
And  sickly  city  youths  who  dared  not  swim, 
Who  gasped  in  water  and  then  came  out  to 

run 
Self-conscious    on    the    shore,    flabby    and 

slim, — 

Turning  sly  eyes  to  sleek  a  woman's  limb 
Or  bit  of  skin  above  the  stocking  gleaming, 
Or  breast  that  stood  out  clear  from  water 

streaming; 

Pah,  how  it  sickened  him !    Swiftly  he  came, 
Caught   lightly   along  in   foam,   a   sea-god 

bright, 
Flashed  through  the  surf,  burst  through  the 

crowd  like  flame, 
Scattered  the  frightened  children  left  and 

right, 
Sent  a  youth  spinning,  who  glowered  but 

dared  not  fight, 
Ran  tingling,  roseate,  digging  toes  in  sand, 


YOUTH  81 

And  laughed  because  girls  stared  on  every 
hand  .  .  . 

The  June  dusk  came,  in  Jersey  set  the  sun, 

Warm  smiling  light  lay  over  land  and  sea; 

The  tree-tops  burned;  he  saw  the  sea-gulls 
run 

Through  upper  rose-fire,  shining,  floating, 
free; 

They  made  the  most  of  life,  and  so  would 
he,- 

He  mounted  wind  with  them,  strong  wings 
were  his, 

Earth  dropped  beneath,  he  burst  where  sun 
light  is, — 

Beat  the  earth  down  with  dark  and  angry 

wings, 

With  every  wing-beat  felt  his  body  lifting, 
Lost  sound  and  sight  of  earth  and  earthy 

things, 


82  YOUTH 

High  up,  triumphant,  with  a  calm  wind  drift 
ing; 

To  watch  night  rise,  and  stars  through  dark 
clouds  rifting,— 

Ah,  that  was  life!  and  not  this  dusty  sprawl 
ing, 

These  whimpering  creatures  in  the  darkness 
crawling! 

He  looked  at  all  their  white  suspicious  faces, 
Hands  pale  and  lean,  limp  and  slavish  and 

vile, 

Insolence  born  of  cowardice,  slouching  paces, 
The  crafty  glance,  insinuating  smile  .  .  . 
They  did  not  live — they  only  breathed   a 

while, 
Tortured  themselves,  prayed,  cursed  beneath 

their  breath, 
Made   a   wry    smiling    face   at   god, — then 

death  . 


YOUTH  83 

Under  his  feet  the  electric  motors  hummed, 
The  bright  train  sped  through  night,  a  living 

thing; 

The  poles  whipped  past;  rhythmic,  the  rail- 
frogs  drummed  ; 
Lights   flashed   and  vanished  by   as  if  on 

wing; 
This  too  was  life,  this  speed!     He  heard  it 

sing, 

And  there  was  power  in  it,  and  ecstasy, 
Its  exultation  set  his  spirit  free  .  .  . 

And  when  at  last  he  lay  that  night  in  bed, 
Tired  deliciously,  athirst  for  sleep, 
All  this  new  music  triumphed  in  his  head, 
A  thousand  voices,  shrill  and  sweet  and  deep ; 
In  a  vast  cosmic  ring  he  felt  it  sweep, 
Like  a  great  tide  of  stars  he  felt  it  run, 
And  he  among  them,  round  some  blinding 
sun; 


84  YOUTH 

He  heard  the  people  passing  in  the  street,— 
The  slow  steps  on  the  pavement  rang  out 

clear  ; 

He  heard  his  watch  tick,  musically  sweet; 
A  drunkard  sang, — then  silence,  like  a  fear; 
Then,    like    a   fairy   voice    from    some    far 

sphere, 
Came    the    slow    bells    from    Metropolitan 

Tower, 
Now  near,  now  far,  the  quarters  and  then 

the  hour; 

Trolling  out  sweetly  now,  now  fading  far, 
Then  the  deep  solemn  voice,  twelve  times  it 

spoke, 
And  then  the  quiet  ...  he  lay  and  watched 

a  star 
Which  dimmed  and  shone  through  blowing 

chimney-smoke ; 
So  earth  went  on  ...  But  in  him  something 

broke, 


YOUTH  85 

An  exquisite  breaking,  shot  with  fire  of  pain, 
Something  was  born  in  him,  and  something 
slain; 

He  stared  wild-eyed,  lay  mute,  then  laughed 

a  second, 
Drunken  with  wine  of  youth;  and  he  knew 

now 
That  times  had  changed  for  good,  that  life 

had  beckoned, 
That  he  must  go  and  live,  he  cared  not 

how, — 

Only  to  fight,  take,  kill,  and  never  bow : 
Stake  all,  win  all,  lose  all, — what  mattered 

this? 
Fighting  for  life,  even  to  die  were  bliss! 


II. 

Weeks  passed,  a  whirl  of  lights  and  sound 
and  laughter, 


86  YOUTH 

A  fever  dream,  vertiginous,  roaring,  mad, 
He  quit  his  job,  not  caring  what  came  after, 
And  struck  out  blindly;  money  enough  he 

had, 
And  life,  by  Christ,  would  go  now  as  he 

bade; 

He  got  it  by  the  throat,  he  was  its  master  ; 
Sing!  went  his  whip,  and  life  danced  on  the 

faster. 

He  drank,  he  cursed,  he  flung  the  world  off 

spinning, 
He  fought  three  times,  a  girl  the  cause  each 

time, 
He  broke  Jake  Franz's  jaw  to  stop  him 

grinning, 
Whirled  stars  about  his  head  and  made  them 

chime; 

He  got  in  with  a  gang  whose  .work  was  crime, 
Helped  crack  a  jewelry  store,  then  half  killed 

one 


YOUTH  87 

Who  called  him  cheat  at  cards,  and  pulled  a 
gun  .  .  . 

At  the  stage  doors  he  met  with  murmured 

curses, 

He  waltzed  the  queens  away,  he  had  his  will ; 
He  laughed  to  see  the  sports  look  black  as 

hearses, 
White  blooded  things!    Did  they  have  hands, 

to  km? 

Touch  of  soft  fingers  on  him  made  him  thrill, 
He  strode,  his  nostrils  quivered  stiff  with 

scorn, 
He   wondered   why   these    little  men   were 

born  .  .  . 

He  waltzed  the  queens  away, — his  smile,  his 

voice, 
The  youth  that  sang  like  music  through  his 

veins, — 


88  YOUTH 

They  laughed  and  clung  to  him,  they  had  no 

choice, 

He  was  a  love-song  full  of  witching  strains; 
He  danced  them  out  of  the  world  of  work 

and  pains, 

Girl  after  girl,  white  arms  came  gladly  after, 
The  music  drew,  he  danced  them  off  with 

laughter. 

He  did  not  love  them, — they  were  shining 

dust, 
Speciously  bright  soft  wonders  filled  with 

lies, 

Timid  and  insolent,  rotten  with  fawning  lust, 
Foolish,  with  no  more  depth  than  peacocks'- 

eyes; 

They  lusted  after  him,  to  make  him  prize, 
To  hold  his  body  or  even  to  take  his  soul- 
He  smiled,  they  wept  and  cursed,  but  he  kept 

whole. 


YOUTH  89 

One  after  one  he  tempted,  drew,  eluded, 
Smiled  upon,  only  to  show  more  keen  his 

hate, 

Boldly  into  their  dusty  hearts  intruded ; 
He  bade  them  know  themselves,  he  came  like 

fate; 
They  loved  him?    But  they  loved,  he  said, 

too  late, — 
Their  life  burned  out;    they  should  have 

thought  of  this! 
Scornful,  on  pale  lips  then,  a  farewell  kiss. 

Youth  yearns  to  youth,  full  blood  loves  full 

blood  only, 

He  was  too  bright,  too  masterful,  too  keen, 
He  was  too  good  for  these,  so  he  stood  lonely, 
A  lonely  king  waiting  the  lonely  queen; 
An  unsurpassable  fire,  unknown,  unseen, 
Impalpable  dream,  the  warm  bright  mist  of 

life, 


90  YOUTH 

Music,   white   stars;    so   dreamed   he   of  a 
wife  .  .  . 

A  wife?     A  mistress  rather  ...  he  would 

not  wed: 
That  was  to  stoop  in  chains,  renounce  his 

wings, 
Break  body  and  heart  and  soul  for  daily 

bread, 
Get  down   and   crawl   among  all   crawling 

things! 

Life  is  not  life  that  only  day's  work  brings ! 
Crush,   master,   show  no  mercy,   take,   not 

give- 
No  god  save  self,  that  is  the  way  to  live  .  .  . 

He  walked  Sixth  Avenue,  the  night  was  fine ; 
And  strangely,  then,  a  doubt  came,  like  a 

flame ; 
Was  this  way  life? — He  quenched  the  doubt 

in  wine, 


YOUTH  91 

Walked  lightly  out  ...  In  crowds  the  har 
lots  came, 

They  laughed,  they  sang,  they  moved  so  free 
from  shame, 

So  frank  in  lust!  These  creatures  knew  life's 
taste, 

They  danced  it  night  and  day,  no  hour  to 
waste  .  .  . 

They  danced, — for  what  was  living  but  a 
dance? — 

Until  they  sank  down  whitely  to  the  floor, 

Their  rioting  done, — seeing  in  that  last 
glance, 

New  youth  come  laughing  through  the  burst 
ing  door, 

New  eyes  to  shine, — new  dancers  evermore, — 

And  this  same  savage,  passionate  music 
played : 

Still  the  same  music,  though  the  dancers 
fade. 


92  YOUTH 

Doubt  turned  in  him  .  .  .  only  a  moment's 

space  .  .  . 
Was  life  best  so?    Where  was  the  fight  in 

this? 
Night-fears!  ...  He  knew  a  girl,  she  was 

fair  of  face, 
She  had  soft  hair,  her  mouth  was  cool  to 

kiss; 
And  she  could  dance,  and  dancing  would  be 

bliss  .  .  . 

'Us  for  the  music,  kid,  there's  ragtime  play 
ing! 
A  night  of  nights!' — She  laughed,  with  no 

gainsaying  .  .  . 

'Only,  I  hope  my  Jake  Franz  won't  be  there — 
Poor  Jake!  he  loves  me  .  .  .  and  he  might 

be  jealous; 
And  then,  besides,  you  hit  him  one, — for 

fair; 


YOUTH  93 

He  has  been  blowing  round  me  like  a  bel 
lows, 

These  last  two  weeks; — you  know,  these 
love-sick  fellows, — 

Well,  you  can't  say! — 0  mother, — hold  me, 
honey ! 

Doesn't  this  music  make  your  feet  feel 
funny!' 

The  music  wailed, — sinuous,  drawling, 
svelt, — 

Languid,  impassioned,  a  living  and  beating 
thing,— 

Girls  closed  their  eyes  and  let  their  bodies 
melt, 

The  men  laughed  strangely,  held  them  close 
to  swing; 

There  were  tense  movements,  tense  as  cry 
ing  string, 

Short  vibrant  steps,  quivering  stiff  with  pas 
sion, 

Body  to  body  yearning,  stripped  of  fashion; 


94  YOUTH 

Short   breaths,    arms  held   out   straight,   a 

subtle  swaying,— 

Sometimes  a  girl,  with  music  almost  crazed, 
Wailed  a  few  bars;   and  all  the  musicians 

playing 
Leaned  to  their  bows  a  little,  like  men  half 

dazed  .  .  . 
Women  were  drunk  with  it,  their  skirts  they 

raised, 
They  showed  their  knees, — frantic  they  were, 

to  tear 
These  husks  away  and  leave  bright  bodies 

bare  .  .  . 

Frantic,  in  one  fierce  effort  to  be  released, 

To  loose  their  souls  from  centuries  of  re 
straint, 

They  gave  themselves, — until  the  music 
ceased, — 

Then  staggered  back:  to  benches,  flushed  and 
faint; 


YOUTH  95 

They  had  forgotten  puff  and  powder  and 

paint, 
They  were  but  creatures  drunken  with  mad 

moving, 
Drugged  with   the  body's  lust,  the  body's 

loving. 

Jim  and  his  girl  sat  at  a  table  drinking, 
Watching  the  dancers  in  a  haze  of  smoke, 
And,  as  he  watched  them,  back  that  doubt 

came  slinking, 

It  seemed  as  if  some  voice  within  him  spoke  ; 
What   was  this  life?     A   laugh,   a  smutty 

joke  — 

A  drink,  a  giddy  step,  a  dance,  a  kiss, — 
Then  the  long  darkness  of  the  last  abyss. 

This  was  not  living,  but  a  mad  decay, 
Shining  in  darkness,  like  all  things  that  rot, — 
A  whore-house  ball,  garish  and  grim  by  day, 
Lifeless  and  sallow  and  sad,  a  desolate  spot; 


96  YOUTH 

Where  was  the  music  now ?    It  answered  not  ; 

Shutters  were  drawn,  closed  like  the  eyes  of 

death, 
Smell     of     dead     roses     came,     a     febrile 

breath  .  .  . 

Well,  he  would  quit — this  night  would  be  his 
last. 

What  he  would  do  he  could  not  say  as  yet;— 

He  drank,  May  talked ;  before  his  mind's  eye 
passed 

A  host  of  things  .  .  .  the  Amazon, — Tibet,— 

Africa  .  .  .  There,  exploring,  he  might  for 
get 

These  effete  countries  swarmed  with  maggot 
man, — 

Masterful,  where  great  winds,  great  rivers 
ran  .  .  . 

Honduras,  Hayti, — rebellions  every  day; 
He  might  be  king — or  fly-blown  in  a  ditch ; 


YOUTH  97 

Imperial  Caesar  dead  and  turned  to 
clay!  .  .  . 

Turn  socialist?  Pah,  no, — it  made  him 
itch, — 

Sick,  scabrous  dogs!  .  .  .  Christ  no,  not 
that!  ...  But  which? 

He  did  not  know;  he  smiled,  May  talked  to 
him, 

The  smoke  hung  round  the  dancers,  wreath 
ing  dim. 

He  heard  and  answered,  with  a  dreamy  smile, 
May's  smutty  talk, — she  pressed  his  knee 

with  hers; 
Why    not    clear    out    to    mountains   for    a 

while, — 
Breathe  pure  air  sweetened  by  the  pines  and 

firs, 
Where  blue-jay  screeches  and  the  swift  hawk 

whirs, — 


98  YOUTH 

Why  not?  ...  By  god,  he  would!    He'd  go 

next  day; 
And  at  the  thought  he  laughed  and  kissed 

this  May. 

They  danced  again ;  the  music,  like  a  sea, 
Swept  them  away,  as  blind  and  light  as  foam, 
They  leapt  to  stars,  wind  bore  them  high 

and  free, 
They  whirled,  they  laughed,  May  clutched  a 

flying  comb  .  .  . 
The  music  stopped  .  .  .  Jim  stared:     'I'm 

going  home; 
I'm    tired    of    you, — and    all    this    rutting 

crowd — ! 
I'm     quit.' — He     smiled,     sarcastic,     stiffly 

bowed  .  .  . 

And  stalked  away,  seeing  Jake  Franz  look 

sour, 
Pull  down  his  waistcoat  with  elaborate  care, 


YOUTH  99 

Smile  subtly  to  himself,  adjust  a  flower, 
Pass  one  palm  lightly  over  oily  hair  .  .  . 
Jim  kissed  his  hand  to  him  .  .  .  Thank  god, 

fresh  air! 
He  drew  deep  breaths,  fair  from  the  sea  it 

came, 
He  filled  his  heart  with  new  life  like  a  flame. 

Where  were  the  stars?    Ah,  he  remembered, 

then: 

Above  Fifth  Avenue  there  are  no  stars; 
They  have  been  banished  by  the  lights  of 

men, 

Theatre-lights,  electric  signs,  bazars, 
Cafes  and  Lobster-houses,  glorious  bars; 
Well,  he  was  quit  of  this,  perhaps  for  good; 
He  yearned  for  mountains,  valleys,  field  and 

wood  .  .  . 

Where  you   could  see  the  sun  rise  bright 

through  trees, 
Slanting  his  glamour  over  mountain-tops, 


100  YOUTH 

Touching  the  waves  of  forests  broad  as  seas, 
Taking  the  flash  of  dew  from  field  and  copse ; 
There  in  the  pines  a  ghost-wind  never  stops, 
And  stars  shine  down  at  night  through  frosty 

air; 
He  could  scorn  man,  see  truth,  he  thought, 

from  there  .  .  . 

Yes!     He  would  see  life  clear  from  windy 

heights, 
Find  a  new  path  ...  In  this  place  who 

could  see? 

A  maze  of  sweating  days  and  feverish  nights, 
Imploring  hands  and  mouths,  a  drunken  glee, 
Oaths  and  despair, — abysmal  misery ; 
He  would  go  out  .  .  .  and  then  would  find  a 

way. 
He  was  aloft  and  walked  in  dawn  of  day. 

Up  a  dark  street  he  turned,  deserted,  quiet . . . 
He  mused  .  .  .  then  suddenly,  vaguely,  he 
became 


YOUTH  101 

Aware  as  of  some  shadow  .  .  .  His  heart  ran 

riot, 
Jake  Franz  stood  black  .  .  .  'By  Jesus,  it's  a 

shame 
The  way  you  treat  my  girl!     Say,  what's 

your  game? 

What  do  you  think  I  am,  you  swill-pail  cat! 
You  think  I'll  eat  your  leavings?  .  .  .  Tell 

me  that! 

Speak  up,  my  boy!  Things  have  to  be  ex 
plained.' 

— Nonchalant,  sneering,  then,  he  flicked 
Jim's  chin; 

Jim  raged,  lights  ran,  he  struck  out,  some 
thing  pained, 

In  Jake's  hand  flashed  a  knife-blade,  long 
and  thin; 

Then  Jake  dropped  downward,  darkly,  like  a 
sin, 

Out  of  the  universe,  silent  as  wind  it  seemed, 


102  YOUTH 

'* 

Lost    in    the    bottomless    darkness,     only 
dreamed  .  .  . 

Jim   stood  above  him,   staring  .  .  .  Where 

had  he  gone? 
Ah,  he  was  there  .  .  .  'Get  up,  you  fool!'  he 

said, 
He   kicked   him   twice;'  vague   pains  went 

gleaming  on, 

There  in  his  side, — he  felt  it  wet,  he  bled  .  .  . 
No  use  though,  as  he  knew:  the  man  was 

dead, 
Dead  as  the  stone  beneath  him  ...  He  felt 

pain  .  .  . 
Angry,  ' Get  up,  you  fool ! '  he  said  again  .  .  . 

He  kicked  the  shape  once  more,  then  bending 

down 
Scanned  the  white  face,  the  thin  jaw  crushed 

aside, 


YOUTH  103 

The  eyebrows  puckered  in  a  puzzled 
frown  .  .  . 

'Dead  as  the  dust!'  Jim  smiled.  A  wave  of 
pride 

Surged  redly  up  in  him,  he  beamed,  wide- 
eyed  ; 

Then  somewhat  peevish,  stumblingly,  he 
turned, 

And  walked  off,  slowly, — for  his  side  still 
burned  .  .  . 

He  washed  his  cut,  changed  clothes,  and  took 

a  train ; 
Wound  his  watch  carefully,   and  heard  it 

tick 
Faintly  beneath  his  pillow  .  .  .  Damn  that 

pain  .  .  . 
He  tossed  a  bit,  heard  sleepers  breathing 

thick,— 
With  clouded  passion  prayed  that  train  be 

quick; 


104  YOUTH 

Lifting  the  shade  he  saw  black  woods  go  by, 
Bright  sea  .  .  .  dark  farm  ...  a  cold  moon 
in  the  sky  .  .  . 

III. 

Up  the  green  valley  filled  with  sun  he  walked, 
The  mountains  dreamed  in  quiet  round  the 

sky, 
The  cold  brook,  flashing  down,  half  sang, 

half  talked, 
Trees  shook;  and  in  blue  heaven,  frail  and 

high, 

Like  a  last  flurry  of  snow  went  cirrus  by ; 
The  forests  rose  above  him,  burned  or  green, 
Bare  rocky  summits  glowed  in  sun,  serene. 

Earth! — The  strong  mother,  bitter  and  un 
kind, 

Savagely  laughing  from  her  lover's  kiss, 
Tender,      voluptuous,      hard,      unmerciful, 
blind, — 


YOUTH  105 

Earth,  his  fierce  mother,  he  knew  revealed 

in  this; 
Up  the  green  road  he  walked,  his  heart  was 

bliss, 

Savagely  laughing  back,  a  bitter  mirth  ; 
Earth   did   not   care   for   him,   nor   he   for 

earth  .  .  . 

Out  of  her  rocks,  her  mountains,  wind  and 

rain, 

Lightning  and  cold  and  ice,  at  kiss  of  sun 
She  gave  his  body  birth  and  felt  no  pain  ; 
Torpid  she  lay,  she  felt  no  hot  blood  run, 
Smiled  at  her  lord,  nor  knew  what  she  had 

done; 
Life   was  her   smile   to   sun,   her   song   of 

praise.  .  . 
He   had   no   debt,    then,   he  would  go  his 

ways  .  .  . 

Yes,  go  his  ways,  be  true  to  her,  her  child, — 
Merciless,  hard,  voluptuous,  soft  as  dust; 


106  YOUTH 

Leave  life  unchecked  in  him,  be  clean  and 

wild, 
Fashion  his  days  with  strong  hands,  wreak 

his  lust  .  .  . 

Youth  was  a  knife,  he  would  not  let  it  rust! — 
But  cut  with  it,  cut  merciless  to  the  core ; 
Life  sharpens,  fighting  life,  and  lives  the 

more  .  .  . 

He  had  known  what  it  was  to  seize  and  kill, 
To  crush  with  hands,  to  feel  the  hot  blood 

hum; 
Stamped  dust  in  dust,  and  known  the  savage 

thrill 

Thick  in  his  heart,  a  laughter  in  him,  dumb ; 
Shining   he   rose   from    that — now   let   life 

come, — 
Legioned  in  dark,  he  had  the  strength  to 

meet  it, 
Let  a  vast  angry  world  come,  he  would  beat 

it! 


YOUTH  107 

He  found  a  farm,  midway  from  town  to 

town, 
Blake's  farm;  old  Blake  was  looking  for  a 

man; 
A   gentle   soul,   his   face   was   seamed   and 

brown, 

Grief-struck  it  seemed,  inscrutable  to  scan; 
His  wife  had  run  away,  so  rumor  ran ; 
He  talked  in  whispers,  held  a  pail  of  water: 
Jim  took  the  job  because  he  saw  Blake's 

daughter  .  .  . 

Walking  towards  them,  tall  and  sweet  she 
came, 

Lightly  over  the  grass,  as  blossom  snowing, 

Jim's  eyes  flared  up,  he  thought  'By  god,  fair 
game ! ' 

And  watched  her  keen  .  .  .  Her  soft  white 
dress  was  blowing, 

Softly,  a  little,  a  glimpse  of  stocking  show 
ing; 


108  YOUTH 

Three  daisies  shone  like  stars  in  her  dark 

hair, 
Her  eyes  were  deep,  her  brown  slim  neck  was 

bare. 

Her    soft    dress   blowing   made    a   rustling 

sound ; 

Rhythmic  she  came ;  over  her  quiet  face 
The  wind  blew  strays  of  hair,  she  slightly 

frowned, 
An  absent  gesture  brushed  them  back  in 

place ; 

April  she  was, — she  came  with  April's  grace, 
Into  his  heart  she  came,  softly  as  fire, 
And  in  his  eyes  rose  lightnings  of  desire. 

She  was  the  earth  that's  gentle,  smiles  in 

sun, 
The  soft  green  earth  of  spring,  the  hush  of 

spring, 
Young  earth  in  whom  have  hardly  yet  begun 


YOUTH  109 

The  blossom-fires  that  snow  and  burn  and 

sing: 

Youthful  and  grave,  a  wise  and  shining  thing, 
Unscathed  by  knowledge,   therefore  trebly 

wise, 
Unburned  by  passion  yet,  with  undimmed 

eyes. 

'The  new  man,  Jane;  just  show  him  round 

the  farm/ 
The  old  man  whispered;  Jane's  face  lighted 

then, 
She  smiled  to  Jim,  her  soul  faced  his  soul, 

calm, 
She  had   the  frank  straightforwardness  of 

men. 
She  led  him  round,  showed  pasture,  fallows, 

pen, 

The  apple  orchard,  full  of  grey  old  trees, 
The   barn,   a  poultry-yard,    some  hives   of 

bees  . 


110  YOUTH 

Jim  saw,  but  saw  not;  hungrily  he  listened 

Lest  he   should   miss  her  voice's  slightest 

word, 
Sweetly  she  spoke,  and,  hearing,  Jim's  eyes 

glistened, 

Never  before  so  sweet  a  voice  he'd  heard ; 
It  bubbled,  it  broke  in  spray,  like  song  of 

bird; 
Like  living  waters  that  through  a  spring 

wood  run, 
A  quiet  glee,  a  flashing  in  warm  sun. 

Into  his  soul  like  song  of  fire  it  went, 
Warm  tremulous  music,  strangely  bringing 

power, 

An  April  stir,  an  innocent  blandishment, 
The   spring  blood  pushing  blindly  out  in 

flower  .  .  . 

What  was  this  change,  the  magic  of  an  hour? 
He  yearned  to  reach  out  arms  to  her  and 

take  her, 


YOUTH  111 

She  was  so  sweet!     To  crush,  to  bruise,  to 
break  her  .  .  . 

She  was  so  soft,  so  bright,  so  star-like  pure, 
She  walked  beside  him  there  so  frank  and 

free, 

Buoyantly  quiet,  smiling,  ahvays  sure; 
He  watched  her  long,  light  step,  the  moving 

knee 

Rippling  the  soft  white  dress  so  gracefully; 
Fair  game,  by  god!     A  savage  strength  in 

him 
Sang  to  his  finger-tips,  his  eyes  swam  dim  . . . 

Quiet,  'You  must  be  lonely  here ! '  he  said, — 
'Here  all  alone  with  mountains  and  with 

sky  .  .  .' 

They  talked  a  space,  with  often  turning  head, 
Each  frankly  pleased   to  have  that  other 

by. 


112  YOUTH 

He  thought,   'It  won't  be  hard,   she  isn't 

shy,— 
Two  weeks,  I'll  have  her!' — Glancing  down, 

he  smiled, 
Thinking  her  'half  a  woman,  half  a  child' .  .  . 

They  saw  the  farm, — it  was  a  pleasant  place, 
Hard  by  a  wood  that  sloped  up  to  a  hill, — 
The  brook  between ;  below  there  was  a  race, 
And  when  the  wind  came  up  you  heard  the 

mill; 
At  night  you'd  hear  the  woods,  it  was  so 

still: 

Jim  lay  awake,  hearing  soft  sough  of  leaves, 
The  woods  asleep,  birds  rustling  in  the 

eaves  .  .  . 

And  brook  went  droning  downward,  still  the 

same, 
Soft  as  a  dream  .  .  .  grey  as  the  woof  of 

sleep  .  .  . 


YOUTH  113 

Then,  in  his  mind,  her  face  came,  bright  as 

flame, 

He  saw  her  smiling,  saw  her  eyes  grow  deep  ; 
He  heard   her  speaking,    saw   her    gesture 

sweep 

Over  the  deep  fields,  valley,  shining  hills, 
Clover,   and   sun-flash   on   high   mountain- 
rills  .  .  . 

Wild-carrot  tossing  whitely  over  meadows, 

Brown  fallow,  shining  glossy  from  the 
plough, 

Over  the  fields,  flying,  went  blue  cloud-shad 
ows, — 

Dimly,  as  if  through  water  ...  All  this, 
now, 

Came  keenly,  with  a  breath  of  balsam  bough 

Fresh  from  the  woods  .  .  .  And  he  could  see 
her  face, 

Quiet  and  calm,  sweet  spirit  of  this  place  .  .  . 


114  YOUTH 

Yes,  it  was  calm,  a  shallow  in  life's  river, 

Gently   it   moved,    and    lingered   much    in 

sun  .  .  . 

He  could  stay  here  in  languid  ease  forever, 
Not   looking   outward   where    swift   waters 

run; 
No,  though !    He  must  get  out,  the  fight  was 

fun; 
He  would   stay  here  till  murder-fuss  was 

over, 
Laze  here  a  while,  and  dream  things  out,  in 

clover  .  .  . 

Ah!   and  for  Jane! — his  eyes  stared  wide 

through  night, 

As  if  they  saw  her  beauty  somewhere  there, 
Walking  so  lithely  through  the  sun's  kind 

light  .  .  . 

His  body  yearned  to  hers,  for  she  was  fair, 
Young,  with  young  eyes,  soft  skin,  and  dark 

soft  hair; — 


YOUTH  115 

Youth  yearns  to  youth,  full  blood  loves  full 

blood  only, 
She  would  be  mirth,  his  stay  would  not  be 

lonely  .  .  . 

Only  a  while,  he  thought,  only  a  while, — 
He   must   go   back   to    the   dark   world   of 

men  .  .  . 

He  would  but  stay  a  summer,  kiss  her  smile, 
Drink  laughter  from  her  bubbling  mouth, 

and  then, — 
Well,    she    was    nothing    more!     go    back 

again  .  .  . 
He  laughed   at  her  ...  his  dreams  made 

vaguer  riot  .  .  . 
Sleep-webs  came  floating  down,  and  he  lay 

quiet. 

IV. 

Out  through  the  fields  they  walked  when 
work  was  done; 


116  YOUTH 

Like  bright  quick  thoughts  a  month  of  days 

had  passed ; 

Time  was  but  interchange  of  dark  and  sun, 
Clouds  piled  and  massed  and  vanished,  piled 

and  massed; 

Dawn  after  dawn  the  patient  spiders  cast 
New  gossamers  on  the  grass  to  flash  with 

dew; 
The  crows  cawed  harsh ;  red-tasselled  the  tall 

corn  grew. 

The  pumpkins  glowed  like  fire  among  dark 

vines, 

Over  wide  fields  danced  myriad  golden-rod, 
Yellowing  earth;  then  came  bright  flash  of 

tines, 
The  hay-forks  tossed,  scythe  swished,  and  old 

Blake  trod 

Sadly  and  slowly,  whispering  thanks  to  God, 
And  praying  God  to  give  three  fine  days 

more, — 


YOUTH  117 

Three    days    of    sun,    to    take   in    winter's 
store  .  .  . 

A  month  of  days  .  .  .  Jim  worked,  he  sang 

them  by, 

Blew  them  off,  soft  as  dandelion  greys; 
For  Jane  was  there,  like  full  moon  in  the 

sky, 
Jane,  with  her  voice,  her  smile,  her  quiet 

ways; 
Watching  him  work  with  wise  and  musing 

gaze, 

Talking  so  wisely,  brushing  back  stray  hair, 
Or  broidering  all  day,  quick,  with  soft  arms 

bare. 

'By  god,  I'll  have  her  yet!    Fool  that  I  am!' 
Jim  rested  back  from  hoeing,  spat,  changed 

grip, 

Thought  he  was  faint  of  will, — not  worth  a 
damn; 


118  YOUTH 

He  frowned:  how  had  he  let  so  much  time 

slip? 
He,   the  ring-master, — where  now  was  his 

whip? 

Youth  rose  rebellious,  savage  flashed  his  hoe; 
By  god,  to-night!    The  time  had  come  to  go. 

The  time  had  come :  he  must  get  back  again, 
Where  there  was  life,  and  fighting,  blood  to 

spill, 
He  would  walk  strong  and  scornful  among 

men, 
Take  power  from  them,  be  master,  wreak  his 

will; 
He  had  known  what  it  was  to  crush  and 

kill- 
He  knew  his  strength;  if  he  were  killed  in 
stead, — 
Well,  he  lived  only  once,  but  once  was  dead! 

Life  must  be  rich  in  deeds:  it  did  not  matter 


YOUTH  119 

If  they  were  crime,  so  long  as  they  were 

brave ; 

Let  others  make,  it  was  his  work  to  shatter, 
His  work  to  take  and  spend,  let  others  save; 
Life  walked  but  once  this  night-road  to  the 

grave — 
Ah,  let  it  dance,  then,  sing,  storm  heights  of 

power; 
Savage    and    swift,    crush    life   from   every 

hour!  .  .  . 

'Come  for  a  walk,  Jane,  there's  a  new  moon 

shining, 
Bright    through   the   firs  ...  We'll   go,— I 

know  a  place  .  .  .' 
Through  the  warm  dark  they  stepped ;  a  dog 

was  whining; 
The  wind  came  faintly  up,  they  heard  the 

race; 
He  looked  and  saw  the  starlight  on  her  face, 


120  YOUTH 

And  his  heart  pained  him,  loudly  beating, 

beating; 
The  fir-cones  dropped,  they  walked ;  and  time 

was  fleeting. 

The  new  moon  swam  through  fir-tops,  hid 

and  shone, 
The    trees    made    sounds    in    sleep  ...  or 

sounds  in  dream  .  .  . 
As  if  they  dreamed  of  life  long  dead  and 

gone. 

At  edge  of  wood,  a  soft  slope  down  to  stream, 
Dark,   was  a  clover  bed; — with  whir  and 

gleam 
The  big  bees  hung  and  hummed  there  in 

warm  noon ; 
Sweetly  it  slept,  now,  drowsed  by  brook's 

slow  tune  .  .  . 

'Here    is    my    place  ...  It  is  so  soft,  in 
clover  . 


YOUTH  121 

So  sweet  ...  I'm  sure  the  bees  sleep  here  at 

night!  .  .  .' 
She  laughed  a  while  with  him;  O  laugh  of 

lover, 
That  cries  so  deep  and  dark,  that  sings  so 

light! 
They  laughed  a  while,  moon  made  their  faces 

white, 
He  saw   her   white   hands   moving   at  her 

throat, 
Clasping  a  brooch  .  .  .  On  wind  they  seemed 

to  float, — 

Over  the  forest-tops,  his  heart  was  burning, 
Touching  the  leaves,  softer  than  dream  they 

were  .  .  . 
Her  dress  shone  pale,  and  all  his  soul  went 

yearning 

To  feel  that  whiteness,  kiss,  and  capture  her ; 
Out  of  the  woods  came  soft  a  still-and-stir, 


122  YOUTH 

They  hardly  breathed,  dared  not  turn  face 

to  face; 
Their  hearts  beat  loudly  in  that  sleeping 

place. 

'Jane,  there  is  something  .  .  .'    Speech  was 

caught  from  him, 

Fire  surged  up  in  him,  filled  throat  and  eyes, 
'I  love  you,  Jane  .  .  .'    '0,  and  I  love  you, 

Jim— !' 
The  words  had  burst  and  paled,  and  they 

were  wise ; 
But  they  sat  still,  they  watched  the  glorious 

skies, 
All  the  world's  beauty  through  that  darkness 

came, 
Jane's  breath  broke  sharply,  Jim  hung  head 

in  shame  .  .  . 

Her  face  was  white  with  moonlight,  her  eyes 
deep, 


YOUTH  123 

Her  eyes  closed  slowly,  feeling  his  warm  kiss, 
Her   softness   came   around   his  heart   like 

sleep, 
Through  all  his  veins  she  went,  a  singing 

bliss; 
Through  all  his  veins,  with  fire  and  seethe 

and  hiss, 

Like  blossom-fires  of  spring  her  body  went, 
He  closed  his  eyes  and  knew  now  what  life 

meant; 

This  was  life's  flower,  life  meant  no  more 

than  this: 
His  mouth  at  her  mouth,  giving  breath  and 

taking, 

Body  and  soul  surrendered  in  one  kiss, 
The  soul  on  fire  within,  the  body  shaking; 
Life  had  been  dream  before,  now  came  his 

waking, 
She  in  his  arms,  her  quick  breath  on  his 

cheek, 
Her  soft  hair  falling,  hearts  too  full  to  speak. 


124  YOUTH 

Life  had  been  dream!     His  heart  was  loud 

with  crying, 

To  think  how  frantic,  foolish  he  had  been, 
Frantic  in  darkness,  shouting,  hitting,  lying, 
Feeling  this  power  but  turning  it  to  sin ; 
That  was  all  dreamed ;  he  felt  new  life  begin, 
And  a  last  passionate  grief  shook  darkly 

through  him 
Lest  this  new  wonder  tame,  unman,  undo 

him  .  .  . 

'Jane,  you're  the  stars,  the  suns,  the  moons  of 

heaven, 
And  all  the  beauty  and  strength  and  height 

and  fire, 
The  glory  and  power  for  which  I've  blindly 

striven, 
Not  knowing  my  aim,  not  knowing  my  own 

desire  .  .  .' 
He  kissed  her  throat,  they  watched  the  moon 

climb  higher, 


YOUTH  125 

And  the  stars  marching,   marching,   never 

stopping; 

The  brook  droned  on,  they  heard  the  fir 
cones  dropping; 

The  moonlight  made  soft  silver  of  the  clover, 
Tremulous  in  warm  wind  .  .  .  Face  close  to 

face, 
They  saw  this  dark  sweet  world  as  love  and 

lover, 

They  were  the  soul  of  night  and  of  this  place ; 
Darkly  through  deep  eyes  they  went  out 

through  space, 

Timeless,  eternal,  mingling  the  near  and  far, 
Changing  from  life  to  dream,  from  earth  to 

star  .  .  . 

Feeling  the  dream  turn  earth  beneath  their 

feet, 

Feeling  the  star  turn  human  in  their  hands, 
In  darkness  finding  dark  eyes  deep  and  sweet, 


126  YOUTH 

And  a  warm  human  face  in  firebrands  .  .  . 
Love's  magic  only  a  lover  understands, 
Magic  and  magian,  he  is  both  in  one, 
Shrinking  to  speck,  dilating  huge  as  sun  .  .  . 

Up  from  the  valley's  dark,  two  miles  below, 
The  light  wind  brought  a  fading  sound  of 

bells, 
The  church  clock  struck  the  hour,  sweet  and 

slow, 
Some  notes  they  missed,  some  came  with  the 

wind's  swells; 
The  wind  came  soft,  sweet  with  the  soft 

night  smells, 
Meadow  and  pines,  and  dew  on  new-mown 

grass; 
So  time  passes,  so  even  earth  must  pass  .  .  . 

Out  of  the  clover  then  the  lovers  rose. 
Moved  arm  in  arm,  like  ghosts;  Jim  gazed 
at  Jane, 


YOUTH  127 

And  thought  he  walked  on  giddy  heights  of 

snows, 
Or  breathed  star-fire  ...  so  sweet  it  was, 

'twas  pain; 

And  they  must  stop  to  kiss,  and  kiss  again, 
And  touch  with  hands,  and  laugh,  and  walk 

on  slowly, 
Through  the  moon's  light  that  lay  so  still 

and  holy  .  .  . 

'Good-night!' — Mouth  fed  on  mouth,  eyes 

closed  with  yearning, 

Body  to  body  quivered  and  then  stood  still, 
And  the  hearts  paused,  and  the  blood  ceased 

its  burning, 

To  hear  the  music  of  one  perfect  will  .  .  . 
A  long  while  then,  leaning  on  window-sill, 
Jim  stared  at  night;  he  felt  a  great  calm 

,       spread 
Wide  in  his  soul  ...  as  if  his  youth  were 

dead  . 


128  YOUTH 

As  if  all  strength,  all  fierceness,  lust  for  life, 
The  mad  thirst,  body's  trembling  greed  for 

power, 

His  love  of  war,  the  glittering  of  the  knife,— 
Faded,  dislimned,  all  vanished  in  this  hour. 
A  sadness  drooped  his  spirit  ...  Would  he 

cower, — 
Dream  life  away? — Well,  maybe  dream  was 

best, 
Dream,  and  the  long  slow  years  of  calm  and 

rest  .  .  . 

No  feverish  search  through  the  mad  universe, 
Fighting  to  crush   the  small  and  kill  the 

strong, — 
Where  was  the  good  in  that?    That  life  was 

curse ; 

He  would  live  calmly,  usefully,  and  long, 
Plough  earth,  sow  corn,  make  life  a  pastoral 

song, 
Take  fill  of  love,  and  peace,  and  quiet  mirth, 


YOUTH  129 

Close   to    the   calm   heart   of   his   mother, 
Earth  .  .  . 

Long  while  Jim  dreamed  here,  looking  out  at 

night, 
Till  elbows  ached  from  leaning,  eyes  were 

strained ; 
But  then  Jane's  face  came  back  so  sweet,  so 

white, 
In  the  moon's  pale, — and  slow  this  trouble 

waned  .  .  . 
The  waters  roared  far  out,  he  yearned,  he 

pained, — 
New  youth  would  fight  them  .  .  .  Here  they 

ran,  not  deep, 
But  calmly,   smooth   in   sunlight,   calm   as 

sleep. 

He  would   stay  here  untroubled   by  life's 
sound, 


130  YOUTH 

Through  years  to  come  he  saw,  year  beyond 

year; 

He  would  stay  here,  go  this  life's  quiet  round, 
He  saw  himself  grow  old,   still  ploughing 

here  .  .  . 
So  in  his  love  he  dreamed, — stirred  by  no 

fear 

That  life  was  useless,  useless  age  and  youth, 
Sorrow    and    joy  .  .  .  Love    touched    him, 

veiled  the  truth: 

And  life  made  slave  of  him  .  .  .  Meanwhile, 

the  earth 
Still  through  the  starlight  danced  her  endless 

song, 
Turning  her  lord's  love  to  slow  death  and 

birth, 
Still  changing  grey  for  green,  the  weak  for 

strong  ; 
Life's  cry  she  heard  not,  knew  not  right  or 

wrong ; 


YOUTH  131 

Youth  rose,  youth  fell;  she  smiled  to  sun, 

danced  on, 

Smiling  the  same  smile,  dancing,  dawn  to 
dawn. 


ROMANCE. 

THE  last  farewells  were  said,  friends  hurried 

ashore, — 
The  screw  threshed  foam,  and  jarred;  the 

pier  slid  by; 

Hands  went  to  ears  to  still  the  siren's  roar, 
Handkerchiefs  waved,  and  there  was  call  and 

cry; 

Over  it  all,  austere  and  pure  and  high, 
Glittering  snow  and  gold,  the  towers  looked 

down, — 
Serene  and  cold,  regardless  of  the  town. 

The  wind  blew  north ;  and  gravely  on  it  came 
The  trolling  of  the  Metropolitan  bells, 
First  the  four  chimes,  softly  as  puffs  of  flame, 
Then  the  deep  five  .  .  .  Slow,  gentle,  gleam 
ing  swells 

132 


ROMANCE  133 

Came  glancing  in  the  sun,  with  ocean  smells, 
Up  from  the  harbor  and  the  further  sea; 
Over  the  stern  poised  white  gulls,  giddily. 

Over  the  stern  they  poised  and  dipped  and 

glanced, 
Now  dull  in  shade,  now  shining  in  bright 

sun, 
And  one  youth  watched  them  as  they  whirled 

and  danced, 

And  noticed  how  they  circled,  one  by  one; 
To  have  those  wings,  that  freedom, — God, 

what  fun! — 
And  watching  them  he  felt  youth  in  him, 

strong, 
Wings  in  his  blood,  and  in  his  heart  a  song. 

Autumn!      Already    now    the    keen    wind 

nipped, 
The  skies  arched  cold  bright  blue,  the  leaves 

were  turning; 


134  ROMANCE 

Whitely  over  the  waves  the  cold  squalls 
whipped ; 

Scarlet  and  pale,  the  maple  trees  were  burn 
ing, 

Tossing  in  gusts,  and  whirling  and  returning, 

On  Staten  Island,  wonderfully  afire; 

In  bacchic  song  they  flamed,  with  mad  de 
sire. 

Autumn !  bringing  to  old  adventures  death, 
Sadness  at  all  things  past,  things  passing 

still, 
Touching  all  earth  with  strange  and  mystic 

breath, 

Veiling  all  earth  in  fire  ere  winter  kill; 
Even  this  youth  felt  now  his  deep  heart  fill 
With  a  grey  tide  of  mystery  and  sadness, 
Poignant  sorrow  for  all  past  hours  of  glad 
ness  .  .  . 

Those  times — would  others  come  as  keen  as 
they? 


ROMANCE  135 

Was  life  to  come  as  living  as  life  past?— 
Ah,  he  was  youth,  life  could  not  say  him 

nay,— 
The  blood  sang  swift  in  him,  doubt  could  not 

last; 

Let  all  life  dead  beneath  his  feet  be  cast 
And  he  would  trample  it,  divinely  singing: 
Life  lay  before,  more  rapturous  music  bring 
ing! 

More  lusts,  more  shining  eyes,  more  dizzy 

laughter, 

More,  madder  music,  flute  and  violin, 
With  drums  before  and  roses  showered  after, 
Always  in  new  bliss  drowning  his  old  sin; 
Sin? — Was  it  that? — And  straight  in  merry 

din 
Of  song  and  shout  and  laugh  this  thought 

was  lost; 
It  was  no  sin  to  live,  whate'er  the  cost!  .  .  . 


136  ROMANCE 

High  overhead  the  Brooklyn  bridges  passed, 
Span  upon  span  and  rumorous  with  cars, 
Their  shadows  on  the  deck  a  moment  cast, 
With  dizzy  thunder  from  their  traffic's  wars; 
Those    grey    stone    piers    would    soon    be 

crowned  with  stars, — 
Even  now  their  brows  were  soft  with  waning 

sun; 
The  homeward  march  of  armies  was  begun. 

Good-bye,   old  bridges!     And  New   York, 

good-bye! 
Northward  the  engines  took  him;  now  no 

more 
His  gaze  hung  here ;  he  watched  the  western 

sky 

Blazing  with  vision-isles  and  faery  shore; 
Northward  the  vibrant  ship  beneath  him 

bore; 
The  Sound  spread  out  before  them,  wide  and 

blue, 


ROMANCE  137 

Clean  came  the  wind  whereon  the  sea-gulls 
flew  .  .  . 

Soft    fields,    the    flaming   trees,    a    twilight 

farm  .  .  . 
New  York  was  gone.    He  drew  deep  breaths 

of  air, 

Keen  as  keen  fire  it  was ;  then  slow  and  calm, 
He  turned  to  walk  .  .  .  when  lo,  a  girl  came 

there, 

Deep  sunset  in  her  eyes  and  on  her  hair, 
Her  white  dress  clinging  to  her  knees,  one 

hand 
Rising  to  shade  her  blue  eyes;  as  she  scanned 

The  swiftly  gliding  shore,  the  passing  ships. 
The  bell-buoys,  bobbing  and  tolling  in  the 

tide  .  .  . 

A  moment,  breath  hung  lifeless  on  his  lips, 
His  heart  froze  quiet;  no  one  was  at  her 

side; 


138  ROMANCE 

Faintly,  he  smiled;  he  thought  her  eyes  re 
plied, 

Remote  lights  meeting  in  them, — quicken 
ing; 

He  passed,  and  all  his  body  seemed  to 
sing  .  .  . 

He  passed,  then  turned;  and,  as  he  turned, 

she  turned, — 

Her  eyes  met  his  eyes  shyly,  then  again 
She   looked   away,    and    all   her   soft   face 

burned, 

And  all  her  virgin  heart  was  big  with  pain. 
From  the  saloon  below  came  soft  a  strain 
Of  some  new  rag-time,  bidding  feet  to  move, 
Imploring  hands  to  cling,  young  hearts  to 

love  .  .  . 

Sweetly  it  came,  seductive,  soft,  bizarre, 
Huddled  and  breathless  now,  now  note  by 
note 


ROMANCE  139 

Crying  its  separate  pain  .  .  .  now  near,  now 

far  ... 

Mingled  with  all  the  throbbing  of  the  boat. 
How  beautiful !  the  first  star  came,  to  float 
Impalpable  in  dusk;  low  in  the  east ; 
It  seemed  to  sing  on  when  the  music  ceased. 

Herald  of  love,  lo,  love  itself  it  seemed, 
Singing  into  the  twilight  of  her  soul  .  .  . 
How     beautiful!  .  .  .  across     dark     waters 

gleamed 
Red  lights  and  green,  she  heard  a  bell-buoy 

toll 

Suddenly  caught  in  the  after-wash's  roll; 
A  smell  of  autumn  fires  came  down  the  wind ; 
Beauty   so   keen   it   seemed   it   must  have 

sinned  .  .  . 

What  was  this  night,  what  did  it  bring  to 

her, 
What  flower  unfolded  in  its  darkness  now? 


140  ROMANCE 

She  was  this  night;  she  felt  her  deep  soul 

stir, 
The  slow  strange  stir  of  blossoms  in  the 

bough  .  .  . 
How  beautiful!     She  watched  the  forefoot 

plough 
Sheer  through  the  foaming  black,  the  white 

waves  gliding 
Dizzily  past,  now  swelling,  now  subsiding  . . . 

0  Youth,  0  music,  0  sweet  wizardry 

Of  young  life  sung  like  fire  through  beating 
veins! 

O  covering  darkness  and  persuasive  sea! 

0  night  of  stars,  of  blisses  and  of  pains ! 

But  most,  O  Youth,  that  but  an  hour  re 
mains, — 

Be  fierce,  be  sweet  with  us  before  you  go ; 

For,  knowing  you,  the  best  of  life  we  know. 

Enchanted  so  she  watched  dark  waters  slip 
ping 


ROMANCE  141 

Swiftly  and  dizzily  past  the  sheer  black  side, 
Watched  the  fierce  wind  in  sudden  flurries 

whipping 
The  torn  spray  from  the  waves,  against  the 

tide; 
High  among  stars  she  saw  the  mast-head 

glide, — • 

Steadily  now,  now  swinging  slowly,  slightly, 
There  the  high  mast-head  lantern  burning 

brightly  .  .  . 

O  Youth,  O  music,  0  sweet  wizardry, — 
0  covering  darkness  of  mysterious  night! — 
She  turned;  along  the  dark  deck,  quietly, 
He  came  again ;  an  open  door  shed  light 
Strongly  across  him  for  a  space,  then  fright 
Suddenly  set  her  wild  heart  beating,  beat 
ing,— 
Suddenly  set  her  endlessly  repeating 

'I  mustn't  speak!     I  mustn't  speak!'— And 
then 


142  ROMANCE 

He  stood  beside  her,  close  and  warm  and 

strong, 
And  she  knew  sudden  the  beauty  that's  in 

men, 

And  all  her  blood  flew  musical  with  song  .  .  . 
1 — Beautiful,  isn't  it. — Have  you  known  it 

long?'— 

Calmly  he  looked  at  her,  and  gently  spoke. 
She  nodded,  lightly;  then  the  warm  words 

broke 

Easily,  quickly,  fervently  from  her  heart, 
All  the  restraint  of  all  her  youth  was  gone, 
She  felt  a  thousand  warm  new  instincts  start 
Out  of  her  soul,  birds  taking  wing  with  dawn, 
Singing  their  hearts  out  .  .  .  With  a  deep 

breath  drawn, 
'Yes!    I've  known  it  for  years,  and  loved  it, 

too; 
Beautiful! — This — is  this  the  first  for  you?' 


ROMAXCE  143 

They  talked,  in  low  tones;  and  the  sound  of 

sea, 

Falling  of  foam  and  swish  of  dropping  spray, 
Encircled  them  with  song,  incessantly; — 
They  felt  alone,  the  world  seemed  far  away. 
They  two !  they  two !  so  seemed  the  night  to 

say; 

A  darkness  and  a  stealing  fragrance  came 
Spreading  through  all  their  souls,  silent  as 

flame  .  .  . 

0    beauty    of    being    a    living    thing,    she 

thought, — 
Of  drawing  breath  beneath  these  stars,  this 

sky! — 

0  beautiful  fire  that  from  his  eyes  she  caught, 
That  made  her  breath  rise  quick,  her  lips 

burn  dry! 
What  was  this  thing?     Dread   came,   she 

scarce  knew  why, — 
Impulsively  she  went;  yet  she  had  given 


144  ROMANCE 

Her  word  to  dine  with  him,  her  earth  was 
heaven. 

He  watched  her  go,  and  smiled, — her  white 
dress  blowing 

Softly  in  dark, — so  young,  so  sweet,  so  brave ! 

She  was  so  pure !  by  God,  there  was  no  know 
ing,— 

And  he  had  half  a  mind,  still,  to  behave  .  .  . 

No,  though:  far  better  take  what  fortune 
gave,— 

Dance  to  the  music  that  was  played  for  him ; 

Smiling  he  mused  of  her,  his  eyes  grew  dim, — 

And  he  could  feel  her  warmness  by  his  side, 
And  all  his  body  flushed  with  sweet  desire 
To  take  her  shining  loveliness  for  bride, 
To  kiss,  to  fuse  with  her  in  single  fire  .  .  . 
O  youth,  0  young  heart  musical  as  a  lyre! 
0  covering  darkness  of  mysterious  night! 


ROMANCE  145 

He  knew  these  things;  his  heart  was  filled 
with  light  .  .  . 

What  was  one  more?    Pah,  how  he  scorned 

this  qualm! 

Innocent?    Such  girls  seem — but  never  are. 
No,  he  was  not  her  first  .  .  .  And  cold  and 

calm 
He  turned  and  sought  the  brightly-lighted 

bar  .  .  . 
The  music  rose,  through  shut  doors,  faint  and 

far, 
Wailful  .  .  .  Down  in  her  stateroom  mirror 

there 
A  young  girl  eyed  herself,  with  frightened 

stare. 


II. 


She  eyed  herself  with  quick  breath,  fright 
ened  stare, 


146  ROMANCE 

The  fingers  of  one  hand  caught  at  her  throat, 

And  half  unconsciously  she  smoothed  her 

hair  .  .  . 

The  music  called  to  her,  bizarre,  remote  .  .  . 
On  a  vast  hurrying  tide  she  seemed  afloat, 
Hurrying  through  a  darkness  downward  ever, 
Starless,  along  some  subterranean  river  .  .  . 

Where  was  she  going?  Where  was  the  cur 
rent  taking? 

Vaguely  she  knew  that  it  would  lead  to  pain, 

To  a  dark  endless  pain  her  deep  heart  break 
ing, 

To  a  grey  world  forever  dulled  with  rain  .  .  . 

And  yet  she  knew  this  would  not  come  again, 

And  all  the  sweet  bliss  came  imploring,  plead 
ing, 

Melting  her  soul,  bruising  her  heart  to  bleed 
ing  ... 

O  God,  she  did  not  know! — Yet  future  sor 
row 


ROMANCE  147 

Seemed  somehow  paid  for  by  this  instant 

bliss, 

A  brief  to-day  was  worth  a  long  to-morrow ; 
0  youth,  0  night, — this  joy  she  dared  not 

miss! 
Her  whole  soul  yearned  for  this  young  lover's 

kiss, 

Though  it  be  paid  for  through  eternity. 
0,  had  not  God  designed  this  thing  to  be? 

Was  not  her  mouth  for  this  young  mouth  in 
tended, 

Since  all  her  living  body  told  her  so? 

Was  it  not  preordained  that  so  be  ended 

A  girlhood  colder  than  December  snow? 

A  starlight  kiss — she  need  no  further  go — : 

His  warm  hands  touching  hers:  O  was  this 
sin? 

Just  this? — She  shut  her  eyes  to  fires  with 
in  . 


148  ROMANCE 

To  those  fierce  central  fires  she  closed  her 

eyes, 

Yet  dimly  of  their  passion  was  aware, 
And  felt  their  flames  like  drunkenness  arise 
Whirling   her   soul,    making   life    strangely 

fair  .  .  . 
She  eyed  herself  with  held  breath,  frightened 

stare  .  .  . 

Alas,  was  it  the  alchemy  of  sin 
That  made  her  lovelier  far  than  e'er  she'd 

been? 

Plausibly  sweet  the  music  came  to  her, 
Through  many  doors,  most  plausible  and 

sweet, 

Setting  some  subtle  pulse  in  her  astir, 
Smoothing  in  song  her  heart's  erratic  beat. 
Dizziness  came,  unstrung  her  knees,  her  feet, 
And  she  sank  down  a  space  upon  her  bed, 
Shutting  her  eyes,  mad  reelings  in  her  head. 


ROMANCE  149 

How  would  this  end?    And  would  her  whole 

life  change. 
Swayed  by  this  mastering  sun  as  sways  the 

moon? 

Would  all  her  way  of  life  be  new  and  strange, 
Her  friends  be  lost,  her  kin  desert  her  soon? 
Passion  surged  up  in  her,  and  in  its  swoon 
These  doubts  were  swept  aside,  obscure  and 

fleeting  ; 
Somewhere  she  heard  a  beating  .  .  .  beating 

.  .  .  beating  .  .  . 

Was  it  her  heart,  the  loud  pulse  in  her  ear, 
Or  music,  some  recurring  undertone? — 
The  drums  perhaps  .  .  .  She  raised  her  head 

to  hear, 
The  beating  ceased  .  .  .  Only  the  tireless 

drone 

Of  toiling  engines,  and  the  sea's  hushed  moan 
Soft   through    the   fast-shut   port  .  .  .  and 

that  was  all. 


150  ROMANCE 

Steps  passed  and  re-passed  down  the  muffled 
hall. 

Steps  passed  and  re-passed  on  the  deck  above 

Ringing  like  iron  .  .  .  The  curtains  by  her 
bed 

Quivered  forever  to  the  engine's  move, 

And  from  the  lamp  a  quivering  light  was 
shed. 

These  senseless  things,  when  all  her  life  was 
dead, 

Would  still  go  on:  steps  pass,  the  curtains 
quiver, 

These  things  or  others, — they  would  last  for 
ever. 

Quickly  she  rose,  and  in  the  mirror's  shine 
Looked  at  herself  a  quiet  moment's  space  ; 
It  was  as  if  the  earth's  autumnal  wine 
Had  touched  her  soul, — her  body  had  a  grace 
That  passing  life  has,  lovely  was  her  face 


ROMANCE  151 

With  a  strange  loveliness,  and  in  her  eyes 
Was  the  deep  glory  of  October  skies. 

She  was  alive!   her  blood  flew  warm  and 

young; 
No  more  than  this  she  knew,  that  she  was 

fair; 
And  happiness  through  her  deep  heart  was 

sung, 

Passionate  joy  as  light  as  flame  in  air; 
O  youth !  0  love,  oblivious  of  all  care ! 
O  lithe  swift-blooded  youth,  O  rose  of  earth, 
O  warm-eyed  loveliness  of  fragrant  mirth!— 

Giddy,  with  whirling  thoughts,  she  left  her 

room; 

And  down  the  corridor,  with  fainting  feet, 
Lightly  she  went,  caught  onward  to  sweet 

doom, 
And  only  heard  her  heart's  loud  tremulous 

beat; 


152  ROMANCE 

Through  opening  doors,  most  plausible,  most 

sweet, 

The  music  rose  to  her ;  and  he  stood  there, 
Smiling,    in   all   that   noise  and   whir   and 

glare  .  .  . 

Over  the  shining  silver,  sparkling  glass, 
The  smooth  white  table-cloth,  he  leaned  and 

smiled ; 
The  whole  world  vanished,  they  were  lad  and 

lass, 

In  love,  and  face  to  face,  hearts  running  wild. 
Deep  in  her  eyes  he  looked :  0  what  a  child ! 
Her  soft  breast  rose  and  fell,  her  throat's  pure 

white 
Beat  with  a  little  pulse  of  joy  and  fright. 

No  need  to  talk  .  .  .  For  in  their  eyes  they 

met, 
Treading  an  air  so  soft,  so  light,  so  fine, 


ROMANCE  153 

That  they  were  speechless,  words  they  could 
forget; 

They  only  smiled,  and  shyly  sipped  their 
wine, 

And  smiled  again,  and  felt  their  full  hearts 
shine, 

Talked  breathlessly  a  little,  and  longed  to 
lean 

Nearer,  more  near, — till  no  mote  lay  be 
tween, — 

Not  light  or  darkness,  world  or  heaven  or 

star, 
Not  wind,  nor  warm,  nor  cold  .  .  .  but  just 

they  two 

Meeting  at  last,  two  spirits  come  from  far, 
Face  raised  to  face,  white  flowers  made  sweet 

with  dew, — 
Shining    and    passionate,    and    young    and 

new, — 
Their  two  warm  bodies  singing  each  to  each, 


154  ROMANCE 

Mingling    at    last    in    love's    harmonious 
speech  .  .  . 

The   lights,   the   noise,   the   tumult  passed 

away; 

As  in  a  dream  without  a  sound  they  passed; 
She  only  knew  that  it  was  wildly  gay, 
And  shy,  and  bliss  unbearable  ...  At  last 
Under  the  high  dark  starward-gliding  mast 
In  grateful  night  they  sat;  he  brought  her 

coat 
And  trembling  wrapped  the  scarf  around  her 

throat ; 

Letting  his  fingers  linger  there  a  space, 
Longer  than  there  was  need,  so  sweet  she 

smiled, 
So    close   they    were    to    that   soft   wistful 

face  .  .  . 
The  stars  looked  down  upon  them,  clear  and 

mild  . 


ROMANCE  155 

Woman  and  maiden,  girl,  and  little  child,— 
She  was  all  these  ...  A  moment,  he  was 

shaken, — 

Lest  he  do  wrong,  lest  he  might  prove  mis 
taken  .  .  . 

Only  a  moment  .  .  .  passion  rose  again, 
Quiet  he  took  her  hand  and  held  it  long, 
And  all  her  virgin  heart  grew  big  with  pain, 
And  all  her  new-born  body  ached  with  song. 
Blindly  she   prayed  to   God   to   make  her 

strong, — 
More  blindly  cried  to  earth   to  make  her 

weak  ; 
And  looked  at  him,  near  tears,  and  could  not 

speak. 

He  was  a  loveliness  she  could  not  bear  .  .  . 
Like   a   fierce    furnace   seemed   his   beauty 
now  . 


156  ROMANCE 

A  fire  that  caught  her  throat,  her  lips,  her 

hair, 
Her  parching  eyes,  her  pained  and  beating 

brow. 

Only  to  give  herself, — she  cared  not  how,— 
Into  the  flame,  body  and  soul  to  fling; 
To     have     him     hurt     her, — ah,     divinest 

thing!  .  .  . 

Four  bells  were  struck:  'twas  ten  o'clock  he 

said ; 

And  still  the  sea  rushed  past,  under  the  night. 
The  engines  toiled  and  the  great  steamer 

sped; 
And  they  could  see  the  bow- wash,   dimly 

white, 

Fall  into  darkness  ever;  the  mast-head  light 
Quivered  among  the  stars,  and  in  its  fire 
A    span    of    fore-stay    shone    like    golden 

wire  . 


ROMANCE  157 

Little  by  little  they  were  left  alone, 
The  decks  were  emptied ;  only,  from  the  bar, 
Came  shouts  and  laughter,  and  a  drunkard's 

groan, 

And  glasses  clinking,  and  a  strummed  guitar. 
The  door  shut,  and  the  sounds  grew  faint 

and  far, 

And  all  the  deck  was  dark ;  only  the  sea 
Lifted  its  great  voice,  like  infinity. 

O  youth,  O  music,  O  sweet  wizardry 

Of  young  love  sung  like  fire  through  beating 
veins ! 

O  covering  darkness  and  persuasive  sea ! 

0  night  of  stars,  of  blisses  and  of  pains! 

But  most,  0  youth  that  but  an  hour  re 
mains, — 

Be  fierce,  be  sweet  with  us,  before  you  go ; 

For  knowing  you  the  best  of  life  we  know ! 

Beneath  his  kiss  her  mouth  rose  soft  and 
warm, 


158  ROMANCE 

And  dewy  soft  as  rose-leaves  were  her  eyes, 
Under  his  hands,  shaken  as  with  a  storm 
He  felt  her  soft  breast  fall  and  shudder  and 

rise, 
Torn   with   impassioned   breath,   unuttered 

cries  ; 

Quivering,  straining  breast  against  his  breast, 
She  clung  to  him,  her  mouth  on  his  mouth 

pressed  .  .  . 


And  only  Imew  that  this  was  life  at  last, 

Forgot  all  else  in  agony  of  bliss  ; 

Into  this  fire  of  love  all  earth  was  cast; 

The  stars,  the  sea,  were  mingled  in  this  kiss. 

And  through  her  heart  the  blood,  with  sing 

and  hiss, 
Poured   a  red   madness,    surged    a   riotous 

pain,— 
Unbearable  music  cried  out  in  her  brain  .  .  . 


ROMANCE  159 

'0  love/  he  said,  '0  let  me  come  with  you! 
I    love   you    so!      This    night, — 0    let   me 

come ! ' — 

Ah  God  have  pity !  she  knew  not  what  to  do, 
But  sat  all  quiet, — frozen,  shrinking,  dumb; 
And  only  heard  the  toiling  engines  hum, 
The  rush  of  sea,  the  swish  of  dropping  spray, 
Her  clamorous  heart;  and  all  that  she  could 

say 

Was  a  quick  'yes/  and  then  a  broken  breath 
That  quivered  like  a  sob ;  and  then  she  rose, 
Dizzy   and  weak   and   pale,   like   one   near 

death, 
And  now  her  heart  was  fire,   and  now  it 

froze  .  .  . 
Faint  in  her  room  she  stood;   the  door  to 

close, — 
She  might  still  turn  the  key  .  .  .  She  cried 

a  space, — 


160  ROMANCE 

Long    in    the    glass    stared    at    her    pallid 
face  .  .  . 

And  heard  a  step  tramp  over  the  deck  above, 
Ringing  like  iron  .  .  .  The  curtains  by  her 

bed 

Quivered  forever  to  the  engine's  move, 
And  from  the  lamp  a  quivering  light  was 

shed  .  .  . 
These  things  would  all  go  on  when  she  was 

dead  .  .  . 
Trembling,  with  misty  eyes,  she  loosed  the 

pin 
Under  her  throat  .  .  .  mad  fires  whirled  up 

within  .  .  . 

Mad  fires  whirled  up,  engulfing  all  her  soul ; 
Beyond  the  sun  and  stars,  across  all  space, 
Power  that  earth  nor  heaven  could  now  con 
trol, 


ROMANCE  161 

She  heard  her  lover  come,  with  quickening 

pace; 

Nowhere  to  hide!     Alas,  his  shining  face, 
Though  she  hid  under  seas  would  find  her 

there, 
Though  she  hid  under  mountains  lay  her 

bare! 

Across  the  stars,  nearer,  more  near  it  came, 
And  now  earth  shook  with  it,  and  now  the 

sea, 

And  her  white  body,  tremulous  with  shame, 
From  its  sheer  anguish  knew  that  it  was 

he,— 

Yearned  for  this  wonder  that  was  soon  to  be ; 
And  all  her  heart  made  music  for  his  feet, 
All  of  the  world  re-echoed  to  their  beat  .  .  . 

Marriage  of  youth!     And  quick  a  darkness 
fell, 


162  ROMANCE 

And  time  and  space  went  down,  consumed  in 

fire; 
Through  that  dark  space,  only  one  breath,  to 

tell 

That  here  was  youth,  and  love,  and  wild  de 
sire: 

One  heart  that  to  itself  sang  ever  higher, 
Tremulous,  passionate,  despite  all  pain, — 
'How  wonderful! — how  wonderful!' — again. 

III. 

October  earth,  with  scarlet  maple  leaf, 
With  oak-leaves  brown,  with  flaming  leaves 

and  pale; 

Mysterious  autumn,  symbol  of  all  grief, 
Symbol  of  lives  that  die  and  hopes  that  fail : 
Now  on  the  threshing-floor  has  fallen  the 

flail, 
The  hands  are  elsewhere  that  have  stored 

the  grain ; 


ROMANCE  163 

Now  comes  the  season  of  snows  and  bitter 
rain. 

Weeks  passed  .  .  .  And  then  one  day  there 

came  a  note 
To  New  York  for  this  youth  ...  he  tore 

and  read. 
It   was   that   girl   he   played   with   on   the 

boat  .  .  . 
Scarcely  three  shaky  lines  ...  in  which  she 

said, 
That   she   was   sick   with    typhoid,    nearly 

dead, — 

Wanted  to  say  she  loved  him ;  then  she  cried, 
0  God,  if  he  would  come  before  she  died! — 

Loved  him!  ...  a  blackness  fell;  and  in  his 

eyes, 

So  long  unused,  and  even  now  ashamed, 
He    felt    the    warm    tears    quickening    to 

rise  . 


164  ROMANCE 

Loved  him! — he  had  not  known  .  .  .  Could 

he  be  blamed?— 

Then  a  great  light  of  sorrow  in  him  flamed, 
And  bitterness,  his  sight  swam  quickly  dim, — 
Thinking  how  little  it  had  meant  to  him! 

Scarce  knowing  why,  he  packed  his  things 

and  went  .  .  . 

He  was  surprised,  on  seeing  her,  to  find 
How  lovely  she  had  been,  though  pale  and 

spent  .  .  . 

He  sat  beside  her,  striving  to  be  kind, 
Stroking  her  forehead  .  .  .  Yet,  she  had  di 
vined, 

And  known  too  bitterly,  before  she  died, 
This  man  had  never  loved  her,   but  had 
lied 

And  he  knew  this:  he  knew  that  she  had 
known ; 


ROMANCE  165 

In  her  dark  eyes  he  saw  the  mastered  yearn 
ing, 

All  the  unspoken  love  that  died  in  moan, 
Shrunk  on  itself,  through  all  her  body  burn- 

.    ing  ... 

And  many  days  the  memory  came  returning 
Of  her  last  kiss, — quivering,  wet  with  tears, — 
Her  clinging  hands,  her  brimmed  eyes  dark 
with  fears  .  .  . 

Until  at  times  a  sudden  terror  came 

Lest,  through  great  pity,  he  should  love  one 

dead, — 

So  burning  sweet  recurred  in  him  this  shame, 
So    haunted    him    those    eyes,    that    fallen 

head ; 
The  lips  that  pleaded  so,   the  words   she 

said, — 

Pathetic  words! — these  haunted  him  a  space; 
Then,  in  the  dark  of  time  he  lost  her  face  .  .  . 


166  ROMANCE 

0  Autumn!  bringing  to  old  adventures  death, 
Sadness  at  all  things  past,  things  passing 

still,— 
You   touched   this   love   with   strange   and 

dreadful  breath  ; 

Easy  as  leaf  is  human  love  to  chill, — 
Easy  as  leaf  is  human  love  to  kill  ; 
Yet   beautiful   is   that   death   with   sudden 

flame, 
Ere  it  goes  down   to  darkness,   whence  it 

came!  . 


EARTH   TEDIUM. 

I. 

IF  part  of  earth,  I  am  a  sullen  part, 
A  note  discordant  in  her  harmony; 
For  I  cry  out  against  her  ceaselessly, 
And  bear  a  separate  music  in  my  heart; 
Or  if  in  truth  my  soul  was  born  of  earth, 
Most   strange   that   being   her   offspring   I 

should  hate 

Her  who  in  anguish  opened  wide  the  gate 
To  blinding  light  of  sun,  the  gate  of  birth ! 
Only  in  autumn  do  I  feel  with  her; 
As  fall  her  leaves,  so  fall  the  leaves  in  me, 
In  borrowed  splendor,  dropping  wearily, 
Back  to  the  dust  wherefrom  she  bade  them 

stir. 
Why  did  she  wake,  why  bade  she  them  to 

rise? 

167 


168  EARTH   TEDIUM 

What  joy  had  they  of  life?    Dream  you  they 

heard 

The  cry  of  wind,  or  song  of  any  bird: 
Felt  gratitude  for  rains  or  sunny  skies? 
Ah,  I  have  often  envied  them  for  this: 
They  had  no  sorrows  though  they  had  no 

bliss. 


II. 


For  us,  her  special  tortures  were  prepared ; 
Ah  sorceress !  through  our  unhappy  veins 
Music  of  intermingled  loves  and  pains 
Slowly  she  breathed;  nor  have  we  since  been 

spared. 

May  she  have  joy  of  us,  so  she  desire ! 
And  what  escape?    For  her  all  life  is  sport; 
No  matter  what  illusions  we  may  court, — 
For  you  she  scorns  your  glee,  for  me,  my  ire. 
Shall  I  make  brave  sweet  praise  of  life  to 

sing? 


EARTH   TEDIUM  169 

Lo,  with  her  terrible  mirth  she  shakes  high 

heaven ; 

Shall  I  cry  out  against  this  life  I'm  given? 
Or  sulk?    No  odds,  she  revels  in  the  thing! 
Yea,  even  if  in  my  desperate  plight  I  cry 
'Earth  has  no  soul,  no  sense,  and  knows  us 

not, 

Or  if  she  ever  knew  us  has  forgot/ — 
Still  am  I  conscious  of  a  leering  eye. 
0  falling  leaves,  let  me  go  down  with  you 
To  lie  insensible  in  dust  and  dew ! 


III. 

Still,  if  she  laughs  whichever  way  we  take, — 
Methinks  it  were  the  shrewder  thing  to  go 
Such  path  as,  wisely  followed,  brings  least 

woe, 

Dreaming  some  dream  least  likely  to  awake. 
Smiles  she? —    I  care  not.     You  exist  not, 

Earth! 


170  EARTH    TEDIUM 

Man  is  the  thing:  Most  grave,  most  sure  is 

he; 
What  pleasures  him,   will  it  not  pleasure 

me? 

So;  I  will  sift  the  fine  gold  from  his  mirth. 
Come,  man!  explain  yourself  to  nakedness, 
Tell  me  what  wondrous  ways  you  get  your 

bliss! 

I  fear  there  is  some  mystery  in  this: 
For  what  seems  more  to  him,  to  me  seems 

less. 
Lack  I  some  precious  thing,  some  inward 

fire, — 

Or  have  I  too  much  light?  Behold,  a  doubt. 
Here  is  a  music  makes  him  sing  and  shout — 
And  makes  me  weep;  his  fear  is  my  desire. 
Man  has  great  depths.  .  .  .  Methinks,  then, 

I'll  go  down 
And  find   his   soul.  .  .     Who  knows?  .  .  . 

and  find  a  clown. 


EARTH    TEDIUM  171 


IV. 

Yet  if  of  earth,  and  if  a  sullen  part; 
Though  I  cry  out  against  her  ceaselessly; 
Still  do  I  find  my  life  sweet  harmony, 
And  bear  a  luminous  music  in  my  heart; 
And  I  have  laughed  these  many  times  this 

day 

At  my  poor  brain,  sad  with  eternal  toil, 
That,  darkling,  slowly  digs  in  barren  soil, 
While  birds  sing,  and  my  heart  is  out  at  play. 
Poor  anguished  laborer!     I  love  you  well. 
Most  shrewd  are  you;  your  lightnings  have 

laid  bare 

Man's  littleness  to  me,  and  your  despair; 
Your  speech  is  wondrous,  though  you  speak 

of  hell. 
Most  shrewd,  most  cruel — to  man,  to  me,  to 

earth ; 


172  EARTH   TEDIUM 

Keen  hands  that  spare  no  blossom,  rip  all 

bloom ; 
Yet  I  have  laughed  to  see  you  ache  with 

doom, — 

When  all  the  while  my  heart,  of  other  birth, 
Had  fled  far  from  your  darkness  and  your 

rain, 
Into  the  world  to  see  the  sun  again. 

V. 

Shall  I  drain  all  my  pulses  for  my  song, 
As  poets  do  who  squeeze  their  poor  hearts 

white, — 
Bloodless   and   mute,    (so   they  may   only 

write,) 
Bartering    all    their    flesh    for    one    sweet 

tongue? — 
Twere  folly  thus;  they  slay  the  self-same 

joy 


EARTH    TEDIUM  173 

That  moved  their  hearts  to  sing;   so  will 

not  I; 

Rather,  rejoice  in  this  high  autumn  sky, 
Greedy  of  pleasures  as  a  thoughtless  boy. 
Rather,  go  walk  the  hills  in  whirling  sun, — 
In  dancing  moon, — in  blowing  leaves  and 

grass; 
Watching  sad  autumn  with  her  death-fires 

pass, 
And  winter  skies  grow  grey,  and  earth  grow 

dun; 
And  love  her  well  whom  blessed  fate  has 

given, 

Take,  uncomplaining,  daily  joy  and  pain, 
Bending    my    dripping    face,    if    it    should 

rain, 

To  lift  it  high  again  when  stars  take  heaven. 
And,  living  so,  my  heart  will  sing,  meseems, 
Sweet   of   his   own    accord,    undrugged   by 

dreams. 


174  EARTH   TEDIUM 


VI. 


Is  not  the  poet  he  who  loves  earth  best, 

Who  knows  her  wisest,  deepest,  who,  her 
child, 

Dreamily  with  her  moods  has  wept  and 
smiled, 

Waking  and  sleeping  ever  at  her  breast? 

Not  he,  forsooth,  who  walks  aloof,  apart, 

Looking  askance  at  her.  ...  0  hapless 
brain, 

It  is  your  madness  that  has  brought  me  pain, 

Weaning  my  heart  from  earth,  its  mother- 
heart. 

No  more  this  land  of  mist  and  dark  and  cold ! 

No  more  these  doubtings  and  this  deep  dis 
may! 

Into  the  sun  we  go  once  more  to  play, 

My  heart  is  young,  although  my  brain  be  old. 

He  cannot  sing  of  life  who  lives  so  little: 


EARTH   TEDIUM  175 

Who  loves  not,  hates  not;  come  then,  love 

and  hate, 
While  youth  sings  sweet,  before  it  be  too 

late,— 
Young  eyes  will  pearl,  and  bones  too  soon  are 

brittle; 

0  falling  leaves,  my  heart  goes  out  to  you, — 

1  live,  while  you  go  down  to  dust  and  dew! 


,   VII. 

You  stars  that  shine  this  night  so  cold  and 

clear, 
This  autumn  night,  while  fitful  winds  are 

blowing ; 
Cold  moon, — across  whose  face  wild  clouds 

are  flowing, — 

Or  swimming  in  an  open  azure  space  ; 
You   stricken   leaves,   to  whom   this  night 

brings  death, 


176  EARTH   TEDIUM 

Burned  by  this  frost,  and  by  this  wind  blown 

down, 

Yellows  and  reds  that  soon  will  be  but  brown, 
Wearied  with  rains,  now  palsied  at  a  breath ; 
All  things  deciduous  that  fall  away, 
When  seasons  change  and  generous  suns  are 

gone; 
All  things  that  droop  with  night,  that  lift 

with  dawn, 

All  things  that  stay,  or  only  seem  to  stay; 
You  moon  decadent,  and  you  waning  sun, 
To  whom  will  yet  succeed  more  suns  and 

moons; 

You  seas  that  ebb  and  flow  by  barren  dunes, 
Whose  flowing  and  whose  ebbing  soon  are 

done: 
All  ye,  bear  witness:   though  my  days  be 

few, 
Greatly  I  live,  who  shared  one  birth  with 

you! 


EARTH   TEDIUM  177 

VIII. 

Bear  witness,  Earth,  that  I  have  loved  you 

well, 

Before  my  brain  grew  arrogant  and  proud  ; 
I  was  a  part  of  wind  and  star  and  cloud, 
Most  sweet  and  earthly  did  my  young  heart 

smell. 
Most  sweet  and  earthly!     Sweet  as  woods 

of  fir, 

As  gentle  clover  fields  that  drowse  in  sun; 
Keen  as  the  winds  that  over  cold  seas  run, 
Pure  as  the  breath  that  blows  from  Alpine 

spur! 

Have  I  not  tip-toed  like  a  summer  air 
Into  your  roses,  nor  disturbed  their  sleep? 
Yet  tryst  with  terrible  typhoon  could  I  keep, 
Whitening  seas  and  laying  green  earth  bare. 
I  have  been  seed,  and  drunk  of  sun  and  rain ; 
Felt  the  sure  creeping  bliss  of  opening 

flower ; 


178  EARTH   TEDIUM 

Flared  up   and  blackened  under  autumn's 

power; 
Frozen  in  sod,  been  stretched  in  moveless 

pain. 
All  these  and  more  I've  been,  in  grief  and 

mirth : 
Yea,  I  have  loved  you  well, — bear  witness, 

Earth! 

IX. 

True  song,  meseemeth,  is  but  happiness, 
And  he  that  sings  of  grief  sings  not  at  all; 
Let  him  make  moan, — like  sere  leaf  let  him 

fall; 

But  we  need  tune  of  joy,  of  hardiness. 
0  youth!  you  are  the  sweetest  song  of  earth, 
Her  heart's  true  music;   prithee  stay  with 

me; 

Though  I  grow  old  still  let  me  youthful  be, 
Let  my  grey  ashes  glow  with  central  mirth. 


EARTH   TEDIUM  179 

And  let  a  warmth  be  ever  in  my  eyes, 

Nor  the  sure  snows  of  winter  slake  their 
fire, — 

Let  them  be  bright  with  ever  young  desire; 

I  would  be  glad, — let  other  men  be  wise! 

—Pale  leaves, — although  your  burying  time 
is  near, 

Though  wild  winds  whirl  you,  yet  be  not  dis 
mayed  : 

You  shall  again  make  green  some  sunny 
glade, 

You  shall  make  glee  with  moon  another  year ! 

—True  song  is  this ;  I  flout  the  cynic  brain, — 

Saying,  "like  these  dead  leaves,  I  live  again!" 

X. 

Pitiless  rain,  that,  ceaseless,  all  night  long 
Unwearying,    beatest    on    this    world    like 

pain- 
Pelting  dead  leaves  till  they  would  go  in 
sane 


180  EARTH   TEDIUM 

If  they  had  soul,  or  ear  to  hear  your  song: 

O  heartless  rain!  how  like  man's  grief  you 

are, 

How  like  untoward  fortune,  desperate  fate, 
That  beats  him  down  in  blindness,  not  in 

hate, 

And  all  unwitting  crushes  his  life's  star! 
From  grey  sky  falling,  purposeless  as  grief, 
Falling  forever,  needless,  born  of  chance, 
Without  a  soul,  most  desolately  you  dance, 
Making  a  night-long  dirge  on  bough  and 

leaf. 

And  like  a  dead  leaf  all  night  long  I've  lain 
Borne  down  by  you  and  powerless  to  rise, 
And  felt  you  tireless  beating  on  my  eyes, 
And  on  my  naked  heart  your  pattering  pain. 
Whence  came  you,  from  what  sadness  were 

you  born, 

Symbol    of    all    that's    mournful    and    for 
lorn? 


EARTH   TEDIUM  181 

XI. 

A  world  of  paradox!    Lo,  in  all  sorrow 

Some  sweetness  lurks,  and  laughter  in  all 
tears ; 

And  often  he  desires  who  also  fears, 

And  pain  of  bliss  and  bliss  of  pain  do  bor 
row; 

Man's  soul,  meseems,  was  under  April  skies 

Engendered;  mixture  strange  of  green  and 
grey,— 

The  wayward  wonder-child  of  March  and 
May, 

Black  rains,  bright  sun,  and  tears  in  laugh 
ing  eyes. 

And  this  cold  vale,  shrinking  beneath  a 
cloud, 

Grown  old  with  fear, — lo,  in  a  moment's 
space, 

Lifts  to  the  hurried  sun  a  mirthful  face, 


182  EARTH   TEDIUM 

Out   of    the   darkness   shining,    sweet    and 

proud. 
And  this  rain,  now,  that  pitiless,  heartless 

seems, 
Pelting  dead  leaves,  beating  earth's  bosom 

bare, 

Mingles  a  song  of  love  with  its  despair, 
And  where  it  wounds  instils  a  breath   of 

dreams ; 

—Love  has  its  secret  sadness,  like  this  rain, 
And  in  all  fruitfulness  there  lurks  a  pain. 


INNOCENCE. 

LET  me  be  always  one  with  earth 

Who  bade  her  music  through  me  run, 
Who    through    my    veins    poured    singing 
mirth, 

Made  me  a  dancer  in  her  sun! 
Out  of  her  living  dust  she  made, — 

The  dust  that  once  was  leaves  and  trees; 
Grey  dust  of  roses  long  decayed, 

Still  warm  with  life  of  birds  and  bees; 
The  dust  of  grass,  the  dust  of  clover, 

High  forests  that  have  long  been  dead, 
And  dust  of  many  a  laughing  lover, 

Whose  songs  are  running  in  my  head.  .  . 
All  that  earth  has  been,  all  she  is, 

Her  musics  and  her  ecstasies, 
Cold  winter  rains,  warm  rains  of  spring, 

And  the  slow  sun  that  makes  her  sing, — 
183 


184  INNOCENCE 

I  know  them  all,  all  earth's  in  me, 

I  am  earth's  child,  and  I  am  earth; 
At  one  with  her  in  grief  and  glee, 

I  dream,  with  her,  through  death   and 

birth. 
While  I  am  living,  give  me  speech 

Unconscious  as  the  song  of  birds, 
So  I  may  sing  earth's  praise,  and  teach 

Her  beauty,  though  in  broken  words; 
When  I  am  dead,  let  leaf  and  bough, 

And  small  grass,  and  anemone, 
Have  this  sweet  life  that  I  have  now: 

Earth,  bid  your  lovers  rise  from  me! 


SOPHISTICATION. 

THIS  man,  I  thought,  had  come  too  far 
From  the  warm  sunrise  of  his  birth, 
For  he  had  followed  and  lost  a  star, 
And  now  he  had  no  love  for  earth; 
But  with  pale  face  and  empty  eyes, 
Listless,  as  all  who've  grown  too  wise, 
With  a  sad  absent  step  he  came, 
And  loved  no  thing  and  loved  no  man; 
No  youth-fire  through  his  spirit  ran, 
His  light  was  but  a  candle  flame. 
I  watched  him  like  a  lost  soul  meet 
The  living  crowds  that  filled  the  street, 
And  he  looked  upon  them  hungrily, 
And  sought  their  faces  wistfully, 
As  if  to  say,  'it  is  not  much, 
I  only  ask  of  you  a  touch;' 
For  they  were  warmer,  he  divined, 

185 


186  SOPHISTICATION 

Their  hearts  were  young,  while  his  was  old, 

Their  hands  were  warm,  while  his  were  cold, 

Their  souls  were  fire-light,  bright  and  kind. 

Only  to  pass  them  in  the  street, 

These  humbler  folk  who  never  thought, 

Some  wonder  in  his  spirit  wrought, 

His  heart  re-heard  some  ancient  beat. 

And  he  had  fleeting  glimpse  of  sun, 

A  moment  saw  the  splendor  run 

Between  bright  edges  of  the  grey, 

Whirled  in  a  space  of  dazzling  blue, — 

The  sky  he'd  known  in  childhood's  day 

Ere  wisdom's  sunless  heaven  he  knew.  .  . 

Then  to  his  soul,  a  twilight  room, 

Returning,  he  would  sit  in  gloom; 

Musing  his  life,  his  time  away 

Slow  night  by  night,  dim  day  by  day. 

Through  this  grey  spirit's  twilight  air 
I  think  there  often  rose  a  prayer, 
Unspoken,  uttered  without  words, 


SOPHISTICATION  187 

Unconscious  as  the  speech  of  birds, 
A  prayer,  and  yet  to  no  god  made, 
Since  of  no  god  was  he  afraid; 
To  his  own  soul,  perhaps,  addressed; 
Or  Earth,  to  take  him  to  her  breast 
And  warm  him  there,  in  sun,  in  rain, 
In  wind,  in  cold,  in  blight  of  stars, 
To  give  him  life,  with  bliss  and  pain, 
To  make  new  blood  beat  in  old  scars: 
So  he  might  feel  with  death  and  birth, 
Be  moved  to  dance  with  morning-mirth, 
Laugh  in  the  sun,  be  sad  with  rains, 
And  feel  earth  stirring  in  his  veins; 
Feel  wind  on  bough  blow  cool  or  warm, 
And  old  leaves  torn  away  by  storm, 
Feel  cold  rain-bubbles  round  a  root, 
And  sun  take  dew  from  April  shoot.  .  . 
In  apathy  his  feet  had  moved, 
He  never  hated,  never  loved; 
One  by  one  and  silently 
The  few  who  knew  and  loved  him  died, 


188  SOPHISTICATION 

Went  seaward  with  the  quiet  tide, 
Passed  into  greyness,  quietly, 
And  left  behind  no  hurt  in  him, 
Nor  left  his  searching  eyes  more  dim. 
For  they  had  died  like  winter's  grass, 
The  new  would  come,  the  old  must  pass. 

In  youth,  he  loved  philosophy, 

He  learned  its  sad  satiety; 

And  with  a  grey  net,  dreamlike  fine, 

He  netted  moon  and  star  and  sun, 

The  universe;  but  ah,  that  done, 

He  found  his  caught  stars  would  not  shine. 

Caught  sun  and  earth  had  ceased  their  song, 

Too  late  he  learned  that  truth  is  wrong 

When  it  takes  sunlight  out  of  things, 

And  that  the  snared  bird  never  sings.  .  . 

Too  late  he  learned  this,  too  late  knew 

Philosophy  is  only  true 

When  it  sings  out  of  brimful  mirth, 

Perfumed  and  flower-like  out  of  earth, 


SOPHISTICATION  189 

theory  only  then  is  truth 
When  it  is  youth's  own  praise  of  youth. 
Life  is  not  earth's  life,  when  it  turns 
Against  itself  with  morbid  knife, 
Only  the  dim  towards  dimness  yearns, 
That  life  is  sick  that  questions  life; 
And  this  he  knew,  but  knew  too  late, 
For  he  had  passed  through  wisdom's  gate 
And  seen  of  what  stuff  life  is  made, — 
The  thin  web  woven  out  of  dust, 
Destroyed  then  by  a  foolish  gust, — 
Dust  in  blossom  and  dust  decayed, 
Endless  and  aimless.  .  .  .    Come  so  far 
In  search  of  truth's  ignoble  star 
He  faltered,  turned,  and  ah,  would  then 
Have  fain  been  even  as  other  men, 
Dreamless  and  thoughtless,  wise  in  mirth, 
Wise  in  ignorance,  roots  of  earth; 
Taking  their  lives  of  kiss  and  pain 
As  calm  trees  take  the  sun  and  rain; 
Taking  their  daylight  seriously, 


1 90  SOP  HI  STIC  A  TION 

Wise,  in  their  fools'  serenity. 

But  who  has  seen  truth  through  his  brain 

Hardly  shall  he  return  again 

To  live  in  senses,  nothing  more; 

A  hollow  sea-shell  flung  ashore, 

Life  has  no  use  for  him,  nor  sings 

Her  warm  song  in  him,  he  is  sped; 

He  hears  the  lost  sea's  murmurings, 

A  ghost  wind  roaring  through  his  head, 

But  that  is  all,  he  cannot  move, 

He  dreams,  but  cannot  hate  or  love. 

All  this  he  knew  in  bitterness, 
And  strove  with  in  his  loneliness. 
Of  truth  a  little  cell  he  made 
Wherein  from  year  to  year  he  stayed ; 
Seeing,  through  one  bright  window's  space 
The  moon  and  all  the  stars  go  by, 
And  Earth,  a  young  and  lovely  place, 
And  bright  sun,  swimming  in  bright  sky. 
Once  he  had  known  it, — that  was  past; 


SOPHISTICATION  191 

Now  in  a  cell  had  he  been  cast, 

His  cunning  brain  had  built  dark  bars 

Between  him  and  the  specious  stars. 

His  greatest  sorrow,  I  think,  was  this: 
To  know  that  earth,  however  sweet 
Her  memory  came  to  him,  to  meet 
And  give  him  her  maternal  kiss, 
Could  never  satisfy  again 
His  merciless  thrice-accursed  brain  ; 
He  could  look  back  and  see  her  fair, 
Yet  knew  he'd  sorrow  were  he  there. 
A  long  while  he  had  hoped,  I  think, 
That  some  day  he  might  deeply  drink 
Love  from  a  woman's  living  mouth 
And  so  put  end  to  this  long  drouth. 
He  had  looked  much  on  lips  and  eyes, 
And  hungered  for  this  miracle; 
Alas,  he  knew  this  sham  too  well, 
He  was  too  scrupulously  wise. 
All  magic  but  illusion  is, 


192  SOPHISTICATION 

Illusion  are  love's  ecstasies, 

He  saw  too  keenly,  drove  away 

This  magic  by  the  light  of  day.  .  . 

And  though  perhaps  the  woman  came 

Destined  by  earth  to  set  him  free, 

His  cold  soul  could  not  kindled  be,  % 

He  saw  the  texture  of  the  flame. 

His  mouth  to  hers  he  may  have  pressed, 

Searched  eyes,  and  yearned  to  be  at  rest; 

But  he  saw  keenly,  drove  away 

This  magic  by  bright  light  of  day.  .  . 

How  often,  in  what  sordid  ways, 

How  pitiful,  with  wistful  gaze, 

He  sought  for  love, — hoping  to  find 

Some  human  soul,  some  star-eyed  face, 

Sweetly  to  capture  him  and  bind, 

And  give  his  soul  a  resting-place! 

Some  girl,  some  woman,  magic-sweet, 

With  shining  face  and  dancing  feet, 

Laughing,  untameable  and  wild, 

Heedless  and  thoughtless,  earth's  true  child, 


SOPHISTICATION  193 

So  living,  and  so  wisely  young, 
With  such  sweet  music  on  her  tongue, 
That  he  might  cease  to  be  so  wise 
And  learn  earth's  passion  at  her  eyes! 
And  the  young  harlots  in  the  street, 
These  he  followed  with  timid  feet, 
And  the  young  maids  who  lit  his  gloom 
Singing  and  dusting  in  his  room, 
He  talked  with,  trembling,  shy  of  face, 
Yearning  for  this  imagined  grace.  .  . 
Yearning  to  have  one  thing  to  love, 
One  face  to  make  his  still  heart  move, 
One  face  to  die  for,  bid  him  ache, 
One  heart  to  make  his  own  heart  break.  .  . 
Alas,  if  flame  there  was,  he  came 
Like  salamander  through  that  flame. 
He  heard  love  speak  the  magic  word, 
His  heart  was  mute,  it  never  stirred. 

And  so,  to  ease  his  banishment, 
Wearily,  year  by  year,  he  went 


194  SOPHISTICATION 

To  theatre,  cinematograph, 

That  haply  he  might  cry  or  laugh, 

Or  swiftly  taken  unaware 

Feel  a  cold  horror  creep  his  hair. 

Often  he  smiled  his  cynic  smile; 

But  felt  well  paid  if  every  while 

Suddenly  came  a  gust  of  grief 

Shaking  his  soul's  trees,  or  a  joy.  .  . 

Afterwards,  laughter  might  destroy.  .  . 

But  ah,  what  infinite  relief! 

So  came  the  years  and  took  him  then 

Quietly  from  the  sight  of  men, 

Unwept,  unmissed.  .  .    At  times  it  seemed, 

Or  so  he  in  his  twilight  dreamed, 

That  on-e  so  utterly  without  breath, 

Unearthly  even,  might  escape 

Earth's    restless    change,    by    men    called 

death, — 

And  keep  forever  one  grey  shape.  .  . 
Now  he  is  dead.    So,  every  day, 


SOPHISTICATION  195 

Too  subtle  musing  leads  astray. 
This  man,  I  thought,  had  come  too  far 
From  the  warm  sunrise  of  his  birth ; 
For  he  had  followed  and  lost  a  star, 
And  then,  had  no  more  love  for  earth. 


LAUGHTER. 
(Youth  Speaks  to  His  Own  Old  Age.) 

You,  whom  these  eyes,  no  longer  mine, 

Shall  see  in  the  mirror's  flash  and  shine, 

Meagre  of  face  and  pale  of  cheek, 

Pale  mouth,  and  lines  that  sadness  speak: 

All  the  grey  shipwreck  of  this  me 

Who  look  upon  you  and  laugh  for  glee, 

Mocking  at  you,  poor  feeble  thing, 

You  word  that's  uttered,  you  tune  that's 

played, 

You  body  shrunken,  you  soul  decayed, 
You  heart  that  whispers  but  cannot  sing: 
You,  when  you  walk  abroad  in  sun, 
Blinking  at  last  for  the  too  much  light, 
Scorning  the  young  life  that  can  run, 
Scorning  the  fierce  life  that  can  fight, 

196 


LAUGHTER  1Q7 

And  drooling  wisdom  day  by  day, 
Presuming,  you,  to  point  the  way: 
Here  are  my  eyes  upon  you,  now, 
Colder  than  stars  to  sear  your  brow, 
Here  is  my  hand  upon  your  hand, 
A  stronger  grip  than  yours  can  stand, 
Here  are  my  words,  so  cruelly  true, — 
If  you  be  false,  they  are  stones  for  you.  .  . 
And  because  you  are  feeble,  a  crawling  thing, 
Walking  by  walls  to  hold  and  cling, 
With  terror  of  darkness  on  your  breath, 
And  terror  lest  you  be  dead,  with  death: 
Catching  perhaps  at  straws  of  faith, 
Drunk  with  religion  in  hope  to  drown 
These  maddening  truths  that  will  not  down, 
Clutching  philosophy's  vapid  wraith: 
Here  is  my  perfect  scorn  for  you, 
The  scorn  from  youth  to  old  age  due, 
Merciless  laughter,  sharp  as  knife, 
The  egotistical  laugh  of  life. 
I  hold  my  sides! — let  truth  be  said, 


198  LAUGHTER 

Twere  better  if  things  like  you  were  dead. 

For  I  have  strength  to  face  this  earth, 

I  am  risen  warm  and  strong  from  birth, 

I  am  song,  I  am  love,  I  am  bitter  hate, 

The  laughter  of  speed  that  will  not  wait. 

Nature  is  hard,  but  hard  am  I, 

The  hard  will  live,  the  soft  must  die: 

And  I  who  am  nature  know  this  truth, — 

The  soul  of  nature's  soul  is  youth. 

If  you  deny  me,  turn  to  shame, 

Or  pity  me, — forego  my  name; 

For  youth  is  right,  and  age  is  wrong — 

You  but  a  prayer,  while  I  am  song ! 

The  weak  hates  strong:  you  will  hate  me, 
And  war  upon  me,  with  cunning  wiles, — 
Pity  me,  with  indulgent  smiles, 
And  shrug  your  shoulders  paternally. 

'Mad    youth!'    you'll    murmur — 'how    mad 

•* 

it  is! 
He  must  indulge  his  ecstasies! 


LAUGHTER  1Q9 

Youth  is  a  madness,  it  will  pass, 

The  fever  of  blood,  the  mad  blind  eyes — 

His  stars  will  burn  him,  he'll  grow  wise, 

The  years  bring  calm  to  lad  and  lass. 

And  what  we  thought  so  fine  in  youth 

Was  at  the  most  but  half  of  truth, — 

For  truth  is  not  of  youth  or  age, 

But  sum  of  life's  whole  pilgrimage, — 

The   young   men's   visions,    the   old   men's 

dreams, 

The  passion  of  days,  the  thought  of  years; 
Age's  cautions,  and  youth's  extremes; 
Laughter  is  life  no  more  than  tears. 
Youth  sings,  "the  height  of  life  is  youth, 
All  after  that  is  retrograde, 
The  music  falters,  the  flowers  fade, 
And  falsehood  masquerades  as  truth." 
Youth  sings,  "Age  hath  no  right  to  speak, 
Nature  abhors  him,  he  is  weak, 
But  youth  is  right,  for  youth  is  strong, 
Youth  is  the  young  earth's  bridal-song!" 


200  LAUGHTER 

I  was  a  young  man  once,  myself, 

Youth,  I  can  sympathize  with  you; 

I  speak  impartially  from  my  shelf — 

Truth  lies  half  way  between  the  two. 

Youth  scorns  old  age, — well,  youth  is  right, 

That  is  youth's  nature;  age  scorns  youth, 

Age  too  is  just;  each  sees  the  light 

As  nature  grants,  and  each  sees  truth.  .  . 

For  truth  is  not  of  youth  or  age, 

But  sum  of  life's  whole  pilgrimage, 

A  wonder  of  many  wonders  wrought, 

Blended  of  passion  and  of  thought; 

And  so,  young  man,  we'll  compromise — : 

Each  of  us,  in  our  way,  is  wise!' 

Thus  you  will  speak,  0  cunning  one, 
Warming  your  cold  hands  in  the  sun; 
Squinting  your  eyes  in  too  bright  light, 
Shielding  your  face's  sickly  white. 
However  weak,  life  fends  for  self, — 
Thus  you,  old  ghost!  you  shuffling  trimmer! 


LAUGHTER  201 

You  speak  impartially  from  your  shelf? — 
You  clutch  at  rays,  for  the  light  grows  dim 
mer. 

This  much  I'll  not  begrudge  you,  then — 
Go,  justify  yourself  to  men, 
With  powers  of  darkness  come  to  terms 
Lest  you  turn  sick  with  dread  of  worms. 
But,  for  the  hard  work  of  my  brain, 
Hands  off!  your  yellow  hands  would  stain. 
Our  best  work,  youth's!  one  finger  mars; 
If  you  must  loathe  it,  or  disclaim, 
I  beg  you,  then,  forego  my  name, — 
Else,  die,  mid  laughter  from  the  stars! 

And  yet,  what's  life?    Come,  here's  my  hand. 

For  at  the  last,  I  see  it  well, 

Age  were  not  age  unless  it  fell, 

And  crawls — because  it  cannot  stand. 

I  pity  you, — I  laugh  at  you, — 

Yet  to  your  years  I  see  you  true, 

Truer  than  if,  with  rigid  thought, 


202  LAUGHTER 

Your  age  to  ghost  of  youth  you  wrought. 

Poor  soul!  go,  make  your  peace  with  death, 

And  warm  your  heart  with  a  shibboleth! 

Yes,  you  will  hate,  despise  my  work, — 

How  else? — But  here's  my  laughing  dirk, 

Here  I  have  snared  you,  all  complete, 

Your  pitiful  pale  hands,  struggling  feet; 

If  you  breathe  poison  on  my  art 

Here  is  my  poniard,  here  your  heart !  .  .  . 

Because  you  are  aged,  senile,  lamed, 

For  this,  man,  you  shall  not  be  blamed, 

Though  youth  must  smirk  old  age  to  see, 

And  merriment  bubbles  up  in  me; 

But  if  with  hand  that  smears  and  mars 

You  touch  our  best  work,  yours  and  mine, — 

Then  comes  my  laughter  from  earth  and 

stars, 
Youthful  and  cruel,  wild,  divine! 


YOUTH   IMPERTURBABLE. 

LET  me  not  shrink  at  sight  of  death, 

Nor  waste  in  grief  an  idle  breath.  .  . 

You  whom  I  loved  are  one  with  clay, 

The  brightness  in  your  eyes  is  gone, 

I  shall  not  meet  your  face  to-day; 

Your  day  is  done,  while  mine  goes  on.  .  . 

Why  pity  you?    You  had  your  fling; 

You  had  your  chance  to  dance  and  sing, — 

To  love,  to  hate,  to  kiss,  to  kill, 

To  laugh  and  cry  and  drink  your  fill: 

Now  it  is  ended:  so  comes  end 

To  every  lover,  every  friend; 

The  lips  turn  white,  the  warm  eyes  glaze, 

The  music-box  no  longer  plays, 

And  so  we  hide  you  under  earth 

And  laugh  to  sun  our  wonted  mirth.  .  . 
203 


204  YOUTH  IMPERTURBABLE 

Let  me  not  shrink  at  sight  of  death, 
Nor  waste  in  grief  an  idle  breath.  .  . 

This  buried  something — is  it  you? 

Is  this  decay  the  man  I  knew? 

You,  whose  hand  was  warm  in  mine, 

Whose  eyes  I  saw  with  music  shine, 

Who  laughed  with  me  and  walked  with  me, 

And  in  your  grave  way  scolded  me? — 

Well,  and  so  fares  it  with  us  all,— 

When  autumn  comes  the  leaf  must  fall, 

Nor  shall  I  dusk  one  single  day 

By  mourning  for  what  now  is  clay. 

One  of  my  joys  is  haply  dead, 

One  song  is  sung,  one  word  is  said, 

One  laughter  dies  and  leaves  behind 

Only  an  echo  in  my  mind.  .  . 

Let  me  not  shrink :  I  will  be  stern. 

For  better  or  worse  you  had  your  turn. 

Grief  for  the  dead  is  foolish  grief, 

A  childish  thing,  a  selfish  thing, — 


YOUTH  IMPERTURBABLE  205 

One  voice  cannot  for  always  sing,— 
Even  for  us  is  pleasure  brief; — 
Nor  can  our  tears  and  temper  stay 
The  hand  that  snatches  joy  away. 
For  you,  your  golden  sun  has  set, 
But  I  have  much  to  laugh  at  yet. 

Let  me  not  shrink  at  sight  of  death 
Nor  waste  in  grief  an  idle  breath.  .  . 
Life  is  a  dance; — 0  dance  it  then, 
You  blind  and  fatuous  hosts  of  men ! 
Lift  your  pale  fa^es  to  the  sun, 
And  laugh  and  shout  and  sing  and  run ; 
While  he  is  warm  and  bright  and  red 
Dance  on  the  bodies  of  your  dead, 
Life  is  the  thing, — the  song  of  life, — 
The  eager  plow,  the  thirsty  knife! 
Exult,  all  sorrows  past  forget,— 
Laugh,  there  is  much  to  laugh  at  yet,— 
Tear  down  the  pallid  things  you  hate,— 
Rip  open  earth's  heart  for  your  mate! 


206  YOUTH  IMPERTURBABLE 

This  buried  something, — is  it  you? 
Is  this  decay  the  man  I  knew? 
Here's  nought  but  dirt — here's  nought  but 

dust — 

It  has  no  gleam  of  laugh  or  lust, 
Nor  does  it  say  a  word  to  me, 
Nor  reach  a  warm  hand  up  to  me. 
Are  you  become  but  leaf  and  grass, 
Intricate  roots  that  mat  and  mass 
And  thirstily  hold  and  suck  the  rain? 
Here  for  a  half  year  you  have  lain, 
Quiet  as  earth  is  ...  are  you  earth? 
Share  you  with  her  some  secret  mirth? 

Foolish  of  me  to  think  you  here, 

Where  you  were  buried!  .  .  .    Now  you  are 

Diffused  through  all  earth,  everywhere, 

And  look  at  me  from  every  star. 

So  will  it  be  with  me  in  time, 

Even  for  me  this  sun  must  set; 

But  I  am  still  in  my  laughing  prime, 

0  I  have  much  to  laugh  at  yet! 


YOUTH  PENETRANT. 

I  SHALL  grow  calm  in  a  little  while, 

But  now,  youth  yearns  in  me  to  laugh; 

Cruel  as  cinematograph 

I  show  life  up  to  you  .  .  .  and  smile. 

I  shall  be  calm  in  a  little  space, — 

The  blood  grows  quieter  with  the  years; 

I  shall  be  tenderer,  then,  to  tears, 

And  look  more  kindly  on  life's  face. 

Our  hearts  grow  mellow  nearing  death — 

Like  apples  touched  with  autumn  breath — ; 

When  the  dusk  falls  and  day  is  done 

We  look  more  wistfully  on  the  sun, 

Loving  his  last  warmth  on  our  cheek; 

We  can  be  kind  when  we  are  weak. 

I  shall  be  calm  in  a  little  while, 

But  now,  youth  yearns  in  me  to  laugh ; 

Cruel  as  cinematograph 
207 


208  YOUTH  PENETRANT 

I  show  life  up  to  you  ...  and  smile. 

Merciless  is  this  black  and  white, 

A  cold  inquisitorial  light; 

Baleful,  it  makes  all  life  seem  base, 

Shows  you  the  flesh  of  every  face; 

Only  the  music  makes  it  seem 

So  brightly  glamorous,  so  like  dream. 

Let  the  musician  cease  to  play, 

Here's  naught  but  black  and  white  and  grey, 

Reality,  cold,  mechanical,— 

The  truth — a  hideous  spectacle ! 

Cruel  as  cinematograph 

I  show  life  up  to  you  .  .  .  and  laugh; 

For  that  is  youth's  prerogative: 

To  see  life  coldly  through  brave  eyes, 

To  strip  life  of  its  lovely  lies, 

And,  careless  of  the  dead,  to  live. 

There  is  yet  time,  when  I  grow  old, 

When  the  blood  in  me  is  slow  and  cold, 

To  look  on  life  with  wistful  gaze, 

To  see  life  through  a  soft  bright  haze;— 


YOUTH  PENETRANT  200 

Singing  more  sweetly,  as  they  use 
Who  are  half  death's,  and  hourly  lose 
The  light  that  fades  from  misting  eyes, 
So,  praise  life  in  most  passionate  wise; 
For  in  their  clouded  minds  they  dream 
The  whole  day,  though  it  was  but  dun, 
Made  glorious  by  the  death  of  sun, — 
Death-fires  the  fires  of  life  they  deem. 
Through  mist  they  wander,  singing  sweet; — 
Singing  of  life  to  make  them  brave, 
They  hear  death  digging  each  his  grave, 
They  feel  his  cold  net  touch  their  feet.  .  . 
Half-lives,  they  only  half-life  sing, 
The  tender  light  their  dim  eyes  see; 
They  reach  pale  hands  to  earth  and  cling, 
Grief  gives  their  song  intensity.  .  . 
I  shall  be  calm  in  a  little  while, 
But  now,  youth  yearns  in  me  to  laugh : 
Cruel  as  cinematograph 
I  show  life  up  to  you  .  .  .  and  smile! 


PARASITICS:    TO    CERTAIN    POETS. 

WHO  are  you,  now,  that  thus  presume 
To  come  with  candle  to  my  gloom? 
Think  you  your  candle-tip  can  shine 
With  more  illustrious  light  than  mine? 
Think  you  my  fire  sheds  not  so  far, — 
Was  yours  begotten  of  a  star? — 
Leave  me:  your  face  and  eyes  are  pale, 
The  faint  words  on  your  faint  lips  fail, 
There  is  no  warm  blood  in  your  veins, 
You  know  no  human  joys  and  pains. 
Let  him,  him  only,  sing  of  life 
Who  out  of  terrible  triumph  sings, 
Whose  soul  comes  glittering  like  a  knife, 
With  savage  laughter  cuts  and  flings! 
Out  of  the  livid  soil  he  came, 
A  naked  shape  as  pure  as  flame, 

His  hands  are  red  with  dust  and  death, 
210 


PARASITIC 'S:  TO   CERTAIN  POETS      211 
His  eyes  flash  fires  of  loves  and  hates, 
For  him  the  moon  and  sun  are  gates, 
There  is  deep  music  in  his  breath! 
This  is  the  singer  whom  I  love, 
Unto  whose  music  I  will  move. 

Not  he  who  sits  till  late  at  night 
And  shivers  in  his  candle-light, 
Shutting  his  eyes  to  this  warm  earth, 
Seeking  for  some  far  stranger  birth.  .  . 
Under  the  twilight  seas  he  goes. 
He  weaves,  fantastic,  skull  and  rose. 
The  sleet  upon  his  window-pane 
Goading  his  flagging  wits  again 
Farther  from  earth  and  yet  more  far 
He  dreams  of  haunted  moon  and  star.  .  . 
Drunk  is  he  in  a  hasheesh  spell, 
Frenzied  he  sings  of  heaven  and  hell.  .  . 
Leave  me.    Your  face  and  eyes  are  pale, 
The  faint  words  on  your  faint  lips  fail, 


212  PARASITICS:  TO  CERTAIN  POETS 
There  is  no  warm  blood  in  your  veins, 
You  know  no  human  joys  and  pains. 

0  ghostly  shape !    I  pity  you. 
Nothing  of  life  you  ever  knew. 
With  wistful  eyes  you  muse  and  dream 
And  watch  life's  spectacle  go  by; 
Your  heart  will  never  laugh  or  cry, 
Things  are  not  felt  by  you,  but  seem. 
As  the  fear-stricken  ghost  will  run 
When  cock  shrills  up  the  ruddy  sun, 
So  in  the  wholesome  light  of  day 
Your  tenuous  substance  melts  away.  .  . 
You  are  a  vampire,  and  are  fed 
By  kiss  of  those  whose  blood  is  red. 

Let  me  not  hear  your  faint  sweet  tongue ! 
Such  songs  were  better  left  unsung: 
Better  the  pale  lips  were  not  stirred 
For  utterance  of  this  febrile  word. 
It  is  a  strange,  a  ghastly  thing 


PARASITICS:    TO   CERTAIN  POETS      213 

To  hear  a  dead  man  softly  sing 

Of  roses  long  since  turned  to  dust 

And  loves  that  long  since  turned  to  lust; 

Of  lutes  that  tuned  some  lost  romance, 

Of  broken  hearts,  of  lovers  dead, 

Of  leaves  upon  the  green  grave  shed 

Where  come  the  gleeful  rains  to  dance.  .  . 

Let  me  not  hear  your  faint  sweet  tongue, 

Such  songs  were  better  left  unsung. 

Have  you  had  lovers  in  the  night, 

Lovers  as  savage  as  the  stars? 

Bears  your  pale  heart  the  smouldering  scars 

Of  love  that's  cruel,  love  fanged  to  fight? 

Know  you  the  mouth  that  hides  a  hiss, 

The  Lamia's  mouth  that  drinks  a  kiss 

Insatiable  and  languorous, 

The  red  mouth  greedy  still  in  sleep? 

Know  you  the  love  that's  tyrannous, 

The  taloned  love  that  makes  you  weep? 


214      PARASITICS:   TO   CERTAIN  POETS 

Know  you  these  things?  .  .  .    Ah,  you  have 

read 

In  many  a  well-bound  book  instead. 
You  have  not  loved!     I  know  it  well. 
You  have  no  lore  of  love  to  tell, — 
No  lore  of  hate;  you  never  thrilled 
In  the  warm  blood  of  him  you  killed!  .  . 
Sometimes,  perhaps,  you  cry  or  laugh, 
Moved  by  the  cinematograph.  .  . 
But  flesh  and  blood!    You  know  them  not; 
Only  your  little  pallid  dreams, 
Wan  hopes  and  fears  and  color  schemes,— 
If  you  knew  more,  it  is  forgot.  .  . 
.  .  .  Who  are  you,  then,  that  thus  presume 
To  come  with  candle  to  my  gloom? 
Think  you  your  candle-tip  can  shine 
With  more  illustrious  light  than  mine? 
Think  you  my  fire  sheds  not  so  far? 
Was  yours  begotten  of  a  star? 
I  will  not  hear  you.    Leave  me,  then. 
Warm  your  heart  in  the  world  of  men. 


PARASITICS:   TO   CERTAIN  POETS      215 
Learn  to  laugh  and  learn  to  cry, — 
So,  you  may  sing  to  us,  by  and  bye ! 

O  sun  of  morning,  sun  of  eve, 
O  brilliant  noons  of  healthy  eyes, 
Shrivel  this  ghost  beneath  bright  skies, — 
Consume  him,  lest  he  further  grieve, 
With  the  almighty  laugh  of  life, 
Dazzling  and  vibrant  as  a  knife! 
Let  him  hear  now  his  own  heart  sing, 
A  terrible  and  triumphant  thing, 
Masterful,  tender,  fierce  and  sweet, 
A  heart  of  warm  and  cosmic  beat! 
Let  him  see  earth  through  eyes  not  dim, 
Let  loves  and  hates  be  dear  to  him: 
Let  him  be  stained  with  dust  and  death, 
Confess  his  kinship  with  the  earth; 
He  will  be  fired  with  mighty  mirth, 
There  will  be  music  in  his  breath ! 


DILEMMA. 


I. 


NOT  for  the  sordid  do  we  seek, 
In  the  dark  alleys  of  our  earth, 
Nor  yearn  of  ugliness  to  speak, 
To  lift  a  song  of  gutter-mirth. 
But  there  is  life  in  everything, 
It  is  of  life  that  we  must  sing, 
And  lo,  from  sordid  and  from  base 
Passion  can  lift  a  shining  face. 

Too  long  have  we  been  fed  on  dreams, 
And  strained  our  eyes  for  elfin  gleams, 
And  we  have  been  content  too  long 
To  close  our  eyes  in  making  song, — 
To  sing  of  lives  we  never  knew, 
Of  lands  we  never  suffered  through.  . 

216 


DILEMMA  217 

II. 

Hirelings  are  we  of  the  time. 
God  pity  us!     For  we  must  seek 
In  city  filth,  in  streets  that  reek, 
Dark  inspiration  for  our  rhyme. 
Lo,  here  are  folk  who  day  by  day 
Weary  their  bodies  just  to  live; 
They  ask  for  song:  what  will  you  give? 
They  want  no  song  of  far  away. 

If  you  would  please  them,  you  must  sing 
"This  life  of  yours — a  lovely  thing! 
The  sun  itself  was  not  so  sweet 
As  this  pervasive  modern  grey! 
You  dance  in  such  a  charming  way ! 
What  need  of  wings  since  you  have  feet?" 
—And  we  must  lift  a  song  to  praise 
These  feverish  nights  and  sooty  days, 
The  anguish  and  the  ugliness, 
The  loves  and  hates  of  tired  men, 


218  DILEMMA 

So  they  may  rise  from  weariness 
And  take  their  daily  work  again.  .  . 
What  we  think  beauty,  truth, — who  cares? 
We  must  heal  man  of  his  despairs. 

So  blame  us  not,  earth's  sons  are  we: 
Earth  bids  us  sing  a  modern  ditty, — 
To  hide  the  greyness  of  your  city, 
To  hide  your  modern  misery; 
This  life  of  yours — a  lovely  thing! 
How  it  compels  our  hearts  to  sing! 
When  we  have  sung  you'll  go  your  way, 
Complacent,  for  another  day. 

Hirelings  are  we  of  the  time. 
God  pity  us !    For  we  must  seek 
In  city  filth,  in  streets  that  reek, 
Dark  inspiration  for  our  rhyme. 

III. 

And  yet,  from  sordid  and  from  base, 
Passion  can  lift  a  shining  face.  .  . 


DILEMMA  219 

And  walking  through  a  street  at  night 
I  saw  a  jail  in  soft  moonlight; 
And  there,  behind  the  chequered  bars, 
A  still  shape  came  to  look  at  stars.  .  . 


PHE    following   pages  contain  advertisements   of  a 
few  of  the  Macmillan  books  on  kindred  subjects 


NEW  POEMS  AND  PLAYS 


Poems. 

By  JAMES  STEPHENS,  Author  of  "The  Hill  of  Vision," 
"Insurrections,"  etc.     Cloth,  i2mo. 

It  was  as  a  poet  that  Mr.  Stephens  was  first  introduced  to  the  readers 
f  this  country.  Since  the  appearance  of  that  initial  volume — 
Insurrections — there  has  been  published  one  other  collection, 
The  Hill  of  Vision.  Discriminating  readers  of  verse  have  seen 
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This  new  volume  is  distinguished  by  variety  in  theme  and  treat 
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Van  Zorn :  A  Comedy  in  Three  Acts. 

By  EDWIN  A.  ROBINSON.     Cloth,  i2mo.     $1.25  net. 

This  play  makes  delightful  reading  and  introduces  in  the  person  of 
its  author  a  playwright  of  considerable  promise.  Mr.  Robinson 
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PUBLISHED  BY 

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NEW  POEMS  AND  PLAYS 


The  Congo  and  Other  Poems. 

By  NICHOLAS  VACHEL  LINDSAY.     Cloth,  i2mo. 

In  the  readings  which  he  has  given  throughout  the  country  Mr. 
Lindsay  has  won  the  approbation  of  the  critics  and  of  his  au 
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meanings  in  poetry.  In  this  book  are  presented  a  number  of 
Mr.  Lindsay's  most  daring  experiments,  that  is  to  say  they 
were  experiments  when  they  were  first  tried;  they  have  been 
more  than  justified  by  their  reception.  It  is  believed  that  the 
volume  will  be  one  of  the  most  discussed  of  all  the  year's  output. 


Borderlands  and  Thoroughfares. 

By  WILFRID  WILSON  GIBSON,  Author  of  "Daily  Bread," 
"Fires,"  "Womankind,"  etc.     Cloth,  i2mo.     $1.25  net. 

With  the  publication  of  Daily  Bread  Mr.  Gibson  was  hailed  as  a  new 
poet  of  the  people.  Fires,  his  later  volume,  confirmed  the  im 
pression  that  here  was  a  man  whose  writing  was  close  to  real 
life,  a  man  in  whom  were  combined  a  sympathy  and  apprecia 
tion  of  humankind  with  a  rare  lyrical  genius.  This  present  book 
continues  the  work  which  Mr.  Gibson  can  do  so  well.  In  it  are 
brought  together  three  plays  and  a  number  of  short  lyrics  which 
reveal  again  his  very  decided  talent.  It  is  a  collection  which 
should  indeed  gratify  those  students  of  modern  verse  who  are 
looking  to  such  men  as  Gibson  and  Masefeld  for  permanent  and 
representative  contributions  to  literature. 


PUBLISHED  BY 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue         New  York 


NEW  POEMS  AND  PLAYS 


Romance 

By  EDWARD  SHELDON,  Author  of  "The  Nigger/'  etc. 
Decorated  cloth,  i2mo. 

Mr.  Sheldon  can  be  relied  upon  to  provide  drama  that  is  not  only 
good  from  a  technical  standpoint,  but  unusual  in  subject  matter. 
The  Nigger,  which  proved  to  be  one  of  the  sensations  of  the  New 
Theatre's  short  career,  is  now  followed  by  Romance,  a  play  more 
admirable,  perhaps,  in  its  construction,  and  of  universal  appeal. 
As  a  book  the  story  seems  to  have  lost  none  of  its  brilliance;  in 
fact  the  sharpness  of  its  character  delineation,  the  intensity 
and  reality  of  its  plot  and  the  lyrical  beauty  of  some  of  its  pass 
ages  are,  if  possible  more  apparent  on  the  printed  page  than 
in  the  theatre.  There  is  little  doubt  but  that  the  tremendous 
success  which  the  drama  made  when  footlighted  is  to  be  dupli 
cated  upon  its  appearance  in  this  form. 


Poems 

By  HARRIET  MONROE.     Cloth,  i2mo.     $1.25  net. 

In  this  book  is  brought  together  some  of  Miss  Monroe's  best  work. 
As  the  editor  of  Poetry:  A  Magazine  of  Verse,  wherein  occasion 
ally  compositions  of  her  own  have  appeared,  and  as  a  contributor 
to  the  better  magazines,  Miss  Monroe  has  endeared  herself 
to  a  large  audience  of  discriminating  people.  A  distinguishing 
feature  of  the  collection  is  that  it  is  notably  representative  of 
current  ideas  and  sentiments,  and  pleasingly  varied  in  theme. 
The  author's  subjects  are  chosen  from  the  Panama  Canal,  the 
Titanic  disaster,  the  turbine,  the  telephone,  State  Street,  Chica 
go,  and  other  modern  phases  or  factors  of  life.  There  is  also  a 
group  of  love  poems. 


PUBLISHED  BY 

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64-66  Fifth  Avenue        New  York 


NEW  POEMS  AND  PLAYS 

The  Melting  Pot 

By  ISRAEL  ZANGWILL.     Revised  edition.     Cloth,  i2mo. 

This  is  a  revised  edition  of  what  is  perhaps  Mr.  Zangwill's  most 
popular  play.  Numerous  changes  have  been  made  in  the  text, 
which  has  been  considerably  lengthened  thereby.  The  appeal 
of  the  drama  to  the  readers  of  this  country  is  particularly  strong, 
in  that  it  deals  with  that  great  social  process  by  which  all  na 
tionalities  are  blended  together  for  the  making  of  the  real 
American. 

Sword  Blades  and  Poppy  Seed 

By  AMY  LOWELL,  Author  of  "A  Dome  of  Many-Coloured 
Glass."     Boards,  i2mo.     $1.25  net. 

Of  the  poets  who  to-day  are  doing  the  interesting  and  original  work, 
there  is  no  more  striking  and  unique  figure  than  Amy  Lowell. 
The  foremost  American  member  of  the  "Imagists" — a  group 
of  poets  that  includes  William  Butler  Yeats,  Ezra  Pound,  Ford 
Madox  Hueffer — she  has  won  wide  recognition  for  her  writing 
in  new  and  free  forms  of  poetical  expression.  Miss  Lowell's 
present  volume  of  poems,  "Sword  Blades  and  Poppy  Seed", 
is  ar.  \tnusual  book.  It  contains  much  perhaps  that  will  arouse 
criticism,  but  it  is  a  new  note  in  American  poetry.  Miss  Lowell 
has  broken  away  from  academic  traditions  and  written,  out 
of  her  own  time,  real  singing  poetry,  free,  full  of  new  effects  and 
subtleties. 


PUBLISHED  BY 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

64-66  Fifth  Avenue         New  York 


UJ* 


IVEE8ITY  OF  CALIFO 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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